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The French Pantheon,
1791
Re‐defining the dynamics of power in public art
Jean‐ Guillaume Moitte, ‘le déspotisme’ (Despotism) (1791)
1
Contents
Introduction
3
Quatremère de Quincy: a revised interpretation
13
Artists, art and historical agency
21
The public and the power of art
32
Conclusion
41
Appendix 1
43
Appendix 2
45
Appendix 3
47
Appendix 4‐ List of figures
48
Bibliography
75
2
Introduction
It has come to seem newly possible and pressing to see art as a form of power while at the same time
charting the traces of power represented in forms of art.1
Lyn Hunt, The New Cultural History (1989)
Traditionally when historians used art2 for their research, it served more as an embellishment than as a
component of their central arguments.3 However, as the opening quotation suggests, the rise of cultural
history has compelled historians to address cultural artifacts as not only illuminations of the past, but as
active agents in the historical process. 4
The French Revolution was a key moment in history when art was mobilized to promote the interests of
the state.5 It was in this spirit that public monuments assumed symbolic importance. The French
Pantheon is a prime example of this phenomenon (figure 1). In 1791, the département de Paris decreed
that the Saint Geneviève Church in Paris was to be transformed into a national emblem and renamed ‘le
Panthéon français’ (the French Pantheon). Its’ new function was to house the ashes of ‘les grands
hommes’ (Great Men) of France.
6
To make this transition, that same year, a project to decorate the
building’s interior and exterior with sculptural art representing revolutionary values was commissioned
by the government. This project was directed by Antoine Quatremère de Quincy (figure 2), himself a
trained sculptor and politician.7
To place the 1791 Pantheon commission into context, this introductory chapter will begin with an
overview of eighteenth century debates surrounding the role of art in social and political reform,
1
2
Lyn Hunt, ‘Seeing culture in the room of a renaissance prince,’ The New Cultural History (Berkeley, 1989), p. 206.
‘art’ in this dissertation refers to painting and sculpture.
Michael L. Wilson, ‘Visual culture: a useful category of historical analysis?’ In ed. Vanessa R. Schwartz and Jeanne
M. Pryblyski, The Nineteenth‐ Century Visual Culture Reader (London, 2004), p. 29.
4
For example, see ed. Lyn Hunt The New Cultural History; Politics, Culture and Class in the French Revolution
(Berkeley, 1984).
5
Hunt refers to the legacy of this phenomenon in her work Politics, Culture and Class in the French Revolution: See
also Thomas Crow, Emulation: Making Artists for Revolutionary France (New Haven, 1995).
6
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘département de Paris, ‘extrait des registres des délibérations du directoire,’ (19 July 1791).
7
Ibid.
3
3
demonstrating how art was seen as a form of power. There will then be an analysis of the historical work
relevant to the 1791 Pantheon commission and how it has contributed to historians’ understanding of
power relationships in the creation of public art. These works show how historians often see state‐
commissioned art as an exercise in state power or, as Michael Leith claims, the development of ‘the idea
of Art as propaganda in France’.8 In Art history, public art is viewed in disdain precisely for the reason
that the artist is seen as the subservient enactor of the commissioner’s requirements.9 Nonetheless,
public art commissions imply that at some stage the commissioning body hands over the baton of
control to the artist. There is thus a considerable case to be made for the artists’ capacity to influence
the creation and realization of public art. There is also an argument to be made for the impact of the
public on the Pantheon commission. In public art, the role of the observer is fundamental, as it is for
them that the art is intended. Drawing on Foucault’s model of power, this dissertation will thus
demonstrate that public art should be seen more as the product of dynamic, not binary power
relationships. Within this discussion there will be an evaluation of the material to be used; in particular
how to trace the voices of the artists and public using a variety of methodologies and source material.
In the mid eighteenth century, the role of art in French society was under scrutiny in intellectual circles.
In the court of Louis XVI, the Rococo style prevailed, embodied by the work of artists such as Francois
Boucher (figure 3) and Jean‐Honoré Fragonard (figure 4).10 This aesthetic exalted the frivolity and luxury
that were characteristic of the French aristocracy and its mode de vie.11 However, in the age of
Enlightenment, questions were being raised about Rococo’s moral integrity. The philosophes, famously
8
Michael Leith, The Idea of Art as Propaganda in France (Toronto, 1965).
Marie Jeannine Aquilino, ‘Painted promises: The Politics of Public Art in late Nineteenth‐century France,’ The Art
Bulletin, Vol. 75, No. 4 (Dec, 1993), pp. 697‐712, p. 697.
10
Leith, Idea of Art as Propaganda in France, pp. 5‐6.
11
For example, the poet Piron summed up the spirit of Boucher’s art in one of his poems, in which he represents
the artist as saying to Madame Pompadour:
9
I need not look far to say
What elegance, graces, beauty,
Softness, kindness and gaiety,
In a word, what breathes,
Or banter, or sensual pleasures…
Leith, Idea of Art as Propaganda in France, p. 6.
4
Rousseau, lamented over the degradation of art under this style, seeing it as the incarnation of the
values that led to the corruption of man.12
Nonetheless, there were many French thinkers who believed that art’s reputation could be
rehabilitated. Diderot argued ‘il faudrait que les productions de nos artistes eussent, comme celle des
poètes, un but moral.’13 According to this line of thought, artists should find clearer methods of
representation and depict more virtuous themes.
14
Much discussion focused on the pitfalls and
advantages of the use of allegory in art. In the Ancièn Regime, royal paintings used allegory as a way of
glorifying the achievements of the king.15 In the late eighteenth century, visual representation was
rationalized into named allegorical figures, which evoked specific values and virtues.16 The figures that
constituted allegory’s new language were drawn from classical antiquity, the artistic culture of which
was strongly admired by theorists of the time. It was both the moral quality of ancient art and its
unequivocal style that contemporaries applauded (figures 5 and 6).17 These discourses implied that if
art were to follow this neo‐classical aesthetic and depict moral subjects, it was capable of wielding
significant moral and cultural power.
The novelty of the French Revolution was to engage with this power and mobilize art for social
purposes. In order to reconstruct society from scratch, every tool possible would have to be harnessed
to educate French people about the values of the new French Nation. As Saint Lambert pertinently
noted in the Encyclopédie; ‘on ne conduit le people ni par des raisonnements, ni par des definitions….il
faut imposer à ses sens.’18 At the beginning of the French Revolution, paintings and sculptures reflecting
political concepts multiplied (figure 6).19 Contrary to the practice of royal artists under the Ancien
regime, ‘allegories no longer told stories; they offered values to be admired.’20 Lyn Hunt’s study on the
12
‘ the productions of our artists should have, like those of poets, a moral aim.’ Ibid. p. 210.
14
Ibid.
15
Antoine De Baecque, ‘The Allegorical Image of France, 1750‐1800: A Political Crisis of Representation’,
Representations, No. 47 (Summer 1994), pp. 111‐143, p. 118.
16
Ibid, p. 124.
17
Johann Joachim Wincklemann was the first to expound this idea in Reflexions concerning the imitation of the
Grecian Artists in Painting and Sculpture (Oxford, 1766), which was later confirmed by French thinkers, such as L.J
Le clerc‐ Dupuy, Fragment d'un mémoire inédit sur cette question proposée en l'an VI par l'Institut : Quelles ont été
les causes de l'excellence de la sculpture antique, et quels seraient les moyens d'y parvenir ? (Paris, 1815)
18
‘One does not govern people by reason or definitions…one must appeal to their senses.’ Leith, Idea of Art as
Propaganda in France, p. 15.
19
De Baecque, ‘Allegorical Image of France,’ p. 127.
20
Ibid, p. 127.
13
5
Politics, Culture and Class of the French Revolution (1984) is very useful in the understanding of art as a
form of cultural power. Her approach was, unlike previous historians of the period, to analyze the
culture of the French Revolution as a force unto itself. French revolutionary governments invested
immense faith in the transformative power of symbolic practice, emblems and art. 21
The building and decoration of public monuments to the Revolution were thus important aspects of
cultural policy for revolutionary governments.22 The Declaration of the Rights of Man developed the idea
of the social state in which public works and education were key aspects.23 Despite rising rates of
literacy among the French population, 53% of men and 73% of women were still illiterate. Therefore
visual imagery was a vital means of communication and instruction between Government and its
people.
24
Aside from the project for the Pantheon, there were also propositions for ‘une temple des
lumières et de l’éducation nationale’ (Temple of Enlightenment and Education) to sit on the ruins of the
Bastille prison.25 Behind this attitude towards monuments was also the desire to immortalize the
advances of the Revolution,26 which explains why sculpture, as an enduring edifice of stone, was the
preferred choice of medium for the decoration of public monuments.27
The first study to analyze the 1791 art commission for the Pantheon was G. Vauthier’s ‘Le Panthéon sous
la révolution’ in the Annales revolutionnaires (1910). It is an insightful work, primarily for the extracts
from archival, press and letter sources, which describe how the sculpture appeared to the contemporary
gaze. In particular, journalist Ginguné’s report on the Pantheon in April 1794 provides lengthy
descriptions of the sculptural work in progress.
28
Nonetheless, the size of the article is modest, and
provides a descriptive rather than analytical insight into the commission. Marie‐Louise Biver took a
similar approach in her work entitled Le Panthéon à l’époque révolutionnaire (1982). This study compiles
21
Hunt, Politics, Culture and Class in the French Revolution, p. 56.
See A.N. D 38 2 for the papers of the comité d’instruction publique, which has folders devoted to various aspects
of cultural policy, such as ‘les monuments publiques.’
23
Ed. Francois Furet and Mona Ozouf, ‘The Rights of Man,’ A Critical Dictionary of the French Revolution
(Cambridge, 1989), p. 824.
24
Roger Chartier, ‘Do books make revolutions?’ ed. Peter Jones, The French Revolution in Social and Political
Perspective (London, 1996), p. 168.
25
A.N. D 38 2, ‘mémoire de la comité de l’instruction publique’ (16 June 1792).
26
Ibid.
27
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport sur l’édifice dit de Sainte‐Geneviève (Paris, 1791), published in G. Vauthier, ‘Le
Panthéon sous la Révolution,’ Annales revolutionnaires, No. 3 (1910), pp. 395‐416, p. 401. Also see Gisela
Gramaccini, ‘Jean‐Guillaume Moitte et la Révolution française’, Revue de l’art, No. 83 (1989), pp. 61‐70, p. 61.
28
Ginguené was a journalist for the newspaper Le Moniteur Universel; fonds francais nouvelles acquisitions 9192,
‘Rapport sur le Panthéon’ (April, 1794), Vauthier, ‘Panthéon sous la Révolution,’ p. 396.
22
6
a number of archival sources that chart the history of the Pantheon throughout the revolutionary
period. Our understanding of the position of the sculptors in the commission is enriched in this work,
because Biver reproduces correspondence between Quatremère and key sculptors involved in the
project.29 Biver lifts excerpts from this correspondence and weaves it into her narrative, to create a story
of the Pantheon during the Revolution. In this sense, she provides historians with a useful chronology of
events throughout the commission. However, like Vauthier’s study, Biver does not analyze the sources
that she uses; they serve more as constituents of a wider narrative. 30
For the Bicentenary of the French Revolution, the Centre canadien d’architecture organized an
exhibition devoted to the monument; le Panthéon: symbôle des revolutions (1989). This work puts the
1791 commission into a wider context of the building’s history, which is crucial to grasp if one is to
understand the politics of public monuments in France. The number of alterations to its structure and
décor that were commissioned by various French governments is astonishing.31 Of particular reference
to this dissertation is the chapter entitled ‘le Panthéon révolutionnaire’ and its accompanying
comprehensive bibliography.32 Nonetheless, the nature of the source as an exhibition catalogue limits
the scope for analytical enquiry into specific periods, such as the 1791 commission. The exhibition
curators even confessed that ‘le problème riche d’enseignements sur la condition et le statut des
artistes sous la révolution, mériterait une étude approfondie.’33
Yvonne Luke’s enquiry into ‘the politics of participation: Quatremère de Quincy and the theory and
practice of concours publique’ (1987) was the first study to analyze the power dynamic between artists
and commissioning bodies in the revolutionary period. Quatremère was known as an advocate of
government endorsement of the arts.34 However, his preference for direct commissioning in the
Pantheon project seemed to contradict the reforms for the arts he had laid down in Considérations sur
les arts du dessin en France (Paris 1791).35 For the Pantheon, Quatremère directly chose the artists that
29
See particularly Chapters ‘1792’ and ‘1793’ in Biver, le Panthéon à l’époque révolutionnaire (Paris, 1982).
See Appendix 1.
31
‘Avant‐propos’, Centre canadien d’architecture, le Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions, (Paris, 1989), p. 11.
Chapters V‐VII detail the major alterations to the monument’s décor: ‘V De Sainte Geneviève au Panthéon: les
différents programmes de sculpture, à la lumière des récentes découvertes;’ ‘VI La coupole de Baron Gros;’ ‘VII La
peinture monumentale au Panthéon sous la IIIe République.’
32
Centre canadien d’architecture, Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions, p. 97.
33
‘Knowledge on the condition and status of artists in the Revolution would merit further study.’ Ibid, p. 136.
34
Yvonne Luke, ‘The Politics of Participation: Quatremère de Quincy and the Theory and Practice of ‘Concours
publiques’ in Revolutionary France 1791‐1795,’ Oxford Art Journal, Vol. 10, No. 1. (1987), pp. 15‐43, p. 16.
35
Luke, ‘Politics of Participation,’ p. 16.
30
7
he felt best emulated his designs. Artists who opposed his method of direct commissioning made their
views heard by petitioning through the commune de Paris.36 It would be unfair to say that Luke negates
the role of the sculptors from the Pantheon project, as the focus of her study is the lobbying techniques
of artists who were excluded from the project. However, it is important to note that the consensus of
historians regarding the 1791 Pantheon public art commission is that Quatremère wielded quasi‐
absolute power over its’ ideology, design and production.
The aim of this dissertation is therefore to deepen our understanding of the dynamics of power in the
creation and reception of public art. Rather than using a binary, top‐down conception of power, which
previous studies on the 1791 commission have supported, this dissertation will use a more complex
model to understand the wider range of forces involved in the creation of public art. Integral to this
model will be Foucault’s conception of power as ‘the multiplicity of force relations immanent in the
sphere in which they operate and which constitute their own organization.’37 Within this conception it is
important to realize that ‘where there is power there is resistance’ and that ‘power comes from
below.’38 It cannot be said that the sculptors employed for the commission rebelled in any explicit
manner and in no sense did the Government canvas public opinion before embarking on the project.
However, the exertion of power comes in many forms. By studying these power relations at a micro
level (that of the 1791 Pantheon commission), one can discover that, as Foucault stated, ‘the rationality
of power is characterized by tactics that are often quite explicit at the restricted level where they are
inscribed.’39 Lyn Hunt’s exemplary study, ‘Seeing culture in the room of a renaissance prince’ published
in The New Cultural History raises important issues about art itself as a site of power, with the royal
prince, artist and posterior observer vying for supremacy in the definition of the meaning of art.40
The first chapter will be devoted to a revision of Quatremère’s position as director. It is important to
make the distinction between bodies of power within government commissions. By no means should
Quatremère’s attitudes towards the project be equated with those of the départment de Paris. By
returning to Quatremère’s own published works on the fine arts and his reports relating to the
commission, one will be able to define his attitudes towards politics and public art. There will be a focus
36
Ibid. p. 28.
Michel Foucault, ‘Method’, The History of Sexuality: The Will to Knowledge (London, 1990), p. 92.
38
Ibid. pp. 94‐95.
39
Ibid. p. 95.
40
Hunt, ‘Seeing culture in the room of a renaissance prince,’ p. 232.
37
8
on the language used, in order to understand the kind of discourse in which art, the artist and public
were discussed at the time.
The second chapter will focus on the roles of the sculptors employed by Quatremère and the artistic
process in the Pantheon project. Was artistic integrity compromised by the commission? Did the
sculptors see themselves in competition with one another, or did Quatremère’s idea of fraternal spirit in
group commissions prevail? Was there a hierarchy amongst them with regards to their artistic abilities
and relationship with Quatremère? To answer these questions, the chapter will begin by analyzing
eighteenth century French attitudes towards the artist. The discussion will then move on to determining
the nature of these sculptors’ relationship with Quatremère, using their correspondence, artists’
contracts, obituaries and other monographs relating to the relevant artists. The sculpture itself will be
analyzed to decipher the relative conformity of the artists to Quatremère’s expectations.
The last chapter will address the role of the public in the creation of public art. As much as the
Pantheon commission was designed to promote the ideology of the Revolution, its ultimate function
was as a monument to the nation.41 By deconstructing the government sources and Quatremère's
writings, one can deduce his notions of who the public were, their expectations for such a project and
how they would receive the final sculptural designs. This concept refers to the public as a projected
ideal.42 The chapter will then proceed to evaluate the reaction of the ‘real’ public to the sculpture of the
Pantheon via art criticism in the press and contemporary literature. Arguably, it was this public criticism
that defined whether the Government had succeeded in achieving their aims for the 1791 commission.
The implications of a bias of archival sources in the first chapter should not be ignored. Official sources
demand certain methods of expression from those who write them. Quatremère’s reports, for example,
were written with a view to reminding the government that they had made the right choice for project
director. In this sense, archives reflect the power of state. However, archives are also sites for other
bodies to contest state power. As previously mentioned, the Archives Nationales also contain artists’
responses to Quatremère’s letters. There are also letters from religious men who opposed the
41
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘département de Paris, extrait des régistes des délibérations du directoire’ (19 July 1791). See
also ‘département de Paris, extraits des déliberations du directoire’ ( 1 August 1791), it was decided that the words
‘aux grands hommes la patrie reconnaissante’ would be engraved below the pediment to the building to promote
its function as the resting place of the ashes of eminent Frenchmen who had contributed to the cultural, social or
political enrichment of the nation.
42
For example, in Politics, Culture and Class in the French Revolution, Hunt discusses the discrepancy between
artists/intellectuals idea of ‘the people’ and the people’s idea of ‘the people,’ p. 116.
9
Revolution’s plans for the conversion of Saint‐ Geneviève Church into the Paris Pantheon.43 Reading with
the grain also allows the historian to discover how the mechanisms of state power functioned in the
creation of public art.
Regarding the second chapter, it is important to note that the ways in which the sculptors interacted
with Quatremère in official correspondence might have differed from their personal perspective on the
project. There are few sources written by the sculptors about the commission that are not direct
exchanges with Quatremère or other official bodies.44 However, as a study into power relationships,
addressing the manner in which artists engaged with their commissioner is crucial. In other words, via
the process of official letter writing, artists could make their voices heard to higher positions of power.
Artists’ contracts are useful in determining relationships between Government and artist and one will
need to consider these contracts within a wider context of commissioning practices in late eighteenth
century France. Branching out into source material outside the commission, such as the artists’
obituaries, give an insight into the artists’ personalities and places the Pantheon commission within the
context of their overall careers.
Concerning the third chapter, the use of the press to cipher public opinion of the sculpture produced in
this commission has its limitations. Richard Wrigley argues that Art criticism emerged as a veritable
practice in the eighteenth century, with its own beliefs and codes of conduct.45 It is vital to be aware of
these practices while analyzing these sources. Art criticism was arguably more representative of the
voice of the critic than the wider public. However, this perspective ignores the role of the critic in
shaping public opinion. During the French Revolution, the press was more than a daily newsreel; it
sought to inform French citizens about their rights and encourage government transparency. 46
It is unfortunate that none of the sculpture from the 1791 commission can be seen in the present
building. Most of the sculpture has been destroyed and all that remains are working drawings and
43
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘lettre de l’evêque de Paris à la Mairie,’ (15 May 1791); ‘lettre de l’abbaye de Sainte Geneviève’
(13 May 1791).
44
‘The written declarations of the artist during this period being rare, one must interrogate his artworks.’
Gramaccini, ‘Jean‐Guillaume Moitte et la Révolution francaise,’ p. 63. Apart from Marie‐Paul Nourry, Claude
Dejoux 1732‐1816 (Memoire de Maîtrise sous la direction de Monsieur Antoine Schnapper, 1994), there are no
comprehensive biographies of the other Pantheon artists.
45
Richard Wrigley, The Origins of French Art Criticism (Oxford, 1993).
46
Jeremy D. Popkin, Revolutionary News: The Press in France, 1789‐1799 (Durham and London, 1990), p. 2.
10
contemporary descriptions (figures 7 and 8).47 However, the aim of this dissertation is not to examine
the legacy of the commission, but to examine the sculpture in its original context. The advantage of the
sculptural drawings is that they reveal the evolution of the sculpture, and the difficulties in translating
concept into reality.
In order to accurately imagine the experience of the observer, it will be necessary to consider the more
immediate circumstances of viewing the Pantheon sculpture. In Towards an Aesthetic of reception, Hans
Robert Jauss discusses such practices and the importance of constructing the ‘horizons of expectation’
that would have conditioned the public’s viewing experience of the Pantheon’s sculpture.48 Analyzing
drawings and prints of the Pantheon produced during the Revolution will show how contemporaries
envisaged the monument to look in the Parisian landscape. In her article ‘seeing culture in the room of
a renaissance prince,’ Hunt also shows how the historian can ascertain what art communicates to the
observer in its original setting. 49
It was clear that by the time of the 1791 Pantheon commission, the role of art in social and political life
had fundamentally changed. The mobilization of art for political and social purposes was crucial in the
construction of the new French nation. Art could inspire people to commit to the cause of the
Revolution, in a way that was unique from other forms of communication. The 1791 Pantheon
commission was the embodiment of this kind of art.
It is true that the Government ordered the decorative transformation of the Pantheon and thus held
considerable sway over the project. Undoubtedly, Antoine Quatremère de Quincy, as government‐
appointed project Director, controlled many aspects of the commission. But power is not something
that is wielded by one body alone. As Foucault encouraged historians to believe, power is the product of
multiple relationships between various bodies; both large and small. Power can also be exerted using
the most unlikely of means. This dissertation will thus begin, using the example of the 1791 Pantheon
47
See ‘Chapter V,’ Centre canadien d’architecture, le Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions for recent discoveries of
sculptural fragments from the 1791 commission The sculptural drawings can be found in F/1935/13 A.N, the
cabinet des estampes at the Bibliothèque nationale and the Musée Carnavelet, Paris.
48
Hans Robert Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception (Minneapolis, 1989), p. 41. For the application of Jauss’
theory to art, see the chapter ‘History of Art and Pragmatic History,’ p. 46.
49
11
public art commission, to ‘chart the traces of power represented in forms of art;’50 traces that were
formed as much by the artists and public, as by the Government and Quatremère de Quincy.
50
12
Quatremère de Quincy: a revised
interpretation
Understanding the role of artists and the public in the 1791 Pantheon sculptural commission first
requires a revision of the role of Commissioner, M. Antoine Quatremère de Qunicy. It cannot be denied
that Quatremère played a decisive part in the project. Nonetheless, to claim, in the words of R.
Schneider, that he was the ‘roi sur les chantiers et ateliers’ who ‘n’admet ni ne comprend ici aucune
sorte de liberté, ni même de discussion’ would be extreme.51 In reality, Quatremère de Quincy was just
one element of the power dynamic in the commission. He was a far more complex character than
historians believe and there are many factors to consider in evaluating his role.
Quatremère did not inherit a blank canvas with the building. The precedent set by the old plans for the
edifice dictated the evolution of Quatremère’s plans. Moreover, political reforms initiated by the
revolution, such as public accountability and transparency, were crucial in limiting Quatremère’s power.
Above all, it is questionable whether Quatremère aimed to imbue the Pantheon sculpture with a distinct
revolutionary ‘ideology.’ His vision of the Pantheon was in fact, not political propaganda, but founded
on political principles and aesthetic ideals.
The building that became the Pantheon in 1791 was originally destined to become the new church of
the patron Saint of Paris, Sainte Geneviève. Construction began on 4th September 1764, from the
designs of the architect Jacques Germain Soufflot.52 His vision of the French church was ‘an alliance of
the lightness and delicacy of Gothic building and the beauty of the forms and proportions of Grecian
architecture (figure 9).’53 For revolutionaries in 1791, Sainte‐ Geneviève seemed like the perfect model
to become a monument to the new French nation; not only did its neo‐classical design fit in with their
51
‘ the king of construction sites and workshops’ who ‘did not permit or understand any sort of liberty, even
discussion.’ R. Schneider, Quatremère de Quincy et son intervention dans les Arts (Paris, 1910), p. 6.
52
Centre canadien d’architecture, le Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions, p. 78.
53
Richard Etlin, ‘Grandeur et décadence d’un modele: l’église Sainte‐Geneviève et les changements de valeur
esthétique du XVIIIe siècle,’ Les cahiers de la Recherche Architecturale ( Actes du Colloque Soufflot et l’Architecture
des lumières), supplement to nos. 6‐7 ( October, 1980), pp. 26‐37, p. 28.
13
preferred aesthetic, but it was only half completed. Soufflot had not stipulated any specific designs for
the building’s interior,54 and the religious sculpture that had been completed by 1791 was still in its
infancy.55 The fact that the building had been a construction site for over 25 years meant that details,
such as its sculpture, had lost the attention of the French public. 56 On 2nd November 1789, ecclesiastical
property was nationalized.57 All these aspects increased the Pantheon’s ‘mouldability.’
Nonetheless, he had no say in the choice of the building that was to become the Nation’s temple. The
idea of transforming Sainte‐ Geneviève into a Pantheon had first been suggested by Charles de Vilette in
a letter published in the Chronique de Paris on the 23rd Novermber 1790.58 Quatremère’s first report,
which praises the building’s classical aesthetic, shows an agreement with this choice,59 but in a sense, as
government‐appointed commissioner, he had no alternative.
Several adjustments had to be made to its structure in order to create Quatremère’s secular vision of
Sainte‐Geneviève. Although the building had been inspired by a Grecian aesthetic, its gothic and
religious elements were still present and these could not be appropriated without marked alterations.
Firstly, all the existing religious sculpture had to be leveled, and not without a significant cost.60
Ultimately, the Pantheon was designed to house the ashes of ‘les grands hommes’ of France.
Considering there to be too much light for Sainte Geneviève to fulfill this solemn function, Quatremère
ordered for the ‘suppression des fenêtres,’ which involved blocking all the lower windows of the
building (figure 10).61
In his reports, Quatremère took care to justify these measures, as they could easily be considered as
superfluous in a construction project that had already been costly.62 There was also scepticism about the
plans along religious and aesthetic grounds. Letters from both the abbot of the church and the Bishop of
54
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport sur l’édifice dit de Sainte‐Geneviève fait au directoire du départment de Paris
(Paris, 1791), p. 7.
55
Ibid, pp. 3‐4.
56
Ibid, p. 36.
57
William Doyle, The French Revolution, A Very Short Introduction (Oxford, 2001), p. 52.
58
Chronique de Paris, (23 November 1790), p. 1305.
59
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport, (1791), pp. 1‐7.
60
Ibid, p. 38. To reface the main pediment to the building would cost an estimated 3200 livres, ibid, p. 42.
61
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport fait au directoire du départment de Paris, le 13 Novembre 1792, l’an Ier de la
République francaise, sur l’état actuel du Panthéon francais (Paris, 1792), p. 11.
62
Each of Quatremère’s reports has a detailed list of all accounts concerning the Pantheon. In Fragments sur Paris
(Paris, 1798), Frédéric Jean Laurent Meyer explained how people complained about the cost of the works, p. 163.
14
Paris argued that the new function of the building would appear strange to a catholic observer.63 The
fact that Napoleon converted the Pantheon back to its original religious function fifteen years later is
significant.64 The failure of Quatremère’s sculptures to endure the test of time was because,
fundamentally, the building had been designed with a different purpose. 65 The site of Sainte‐Geneviève
was historic, where Saint Geneviève had defended Paris from Atilla’s army and the cult surrounding her
was strong among Parisians.66
Quatremère was undoubtedly influenced by the sense of urgency in the transformation of Sainte‐
Geneviève. The sweeping social, political and economic changes that had taken place since 1789
irreversibly transformed the country. As discussed in the introduction, by no means were these gains
assured, and one means of maintaining them was by constructing monuments as immortal incarnations
of the Revolution.
67
The directoire de Paris remarked that the Pantheon was ‘la seule monument
comme la seule resources qu’ait en ce moment la sculpture historique.’68 Quatremère commented in his
second report how much the speed of the project would be useful to the success of the Revolution.69
Another factor influencing Quatremère’s position was the state of the Pantheon’s finances. Since the
beginning of the building’s construction, the project had accumulated large amounts of debt. In his first
report, Quatremère denounced the disorder and anarchy rampant in the building’s construction,
administration and finances that had allowed this to happen.70 As a result of deteriorating royal finances
under the reign of Louis XVI, the State had been funding Sainte‐Geneviève’s construction on an annual
loan of 558,123 livres.71 Contrary to what might have been expected of the revolutionary government, it
did not renounce the colossal debts of the old regime. But in assuming these debts, they hardly desired
63
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘lettre de l’evêque de Paris à la Mairie,’ (15 May 1791); ‘lettre de l’abbaye de Sainte Geneviève,’
(13 May 1791).
64
Centre canadien d’architecture, Le Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions, p. 185.
65
Richard Etlin concurred with this perspective in his article, going so far as to claim that ‘ the prestige of the
edifice began to decline as soon as the National Assembly decreed the conversion of the church into the civic
Pantheon.’ p. 31.
66
Dom Jacques Dubois and L. de Beaumont‐Maillet, Sainte‐Geneviève de Paris (Paris, 1982).
67
James A. Leith, Space and revolution: Projects for monuments, squares and public buildings in France, 1789‐1799
(Montreal, 1991), p. 61.
68
“The only monument that currently exists in the genre of historic sculpture.”A.N. F 13 1935, ‘les administrateurs
composant le directoire du département de Paris,’ (28 February 1792).
69
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1792), p. 10.
70
71
Ibid, p. 42.
15
to accrue more.72 In the same report, Quatremère claimed that his new plans for Sainte‐Geneviève,
(including stonework and architectural adjustments), would take two years to complete with half the
cost.73 Clearly Quatremère could not instigate his sculptural plans without strong pragmatic and financial
arguments.
Concerning the organization of power in the Pantheon administration, Quatremère was undeniably
endowed with considerable authority. As ‘Commisseur,’ he was the primary intermediary between the
Government and the rest of the Pantheon workforce. His role comprised of overall artistic and
architectural direction and administration.74 He had the service of three inspectors: Rondelet, Soufflot
and Liger, who were assigned different roles in the areas of masonry, accounting, auditing and
sculpture, who also had daily inspectors that were required to report back to them.75 Fundamentally,
any event, action or design of importance required Quatremère’s approval. 76
However, there are two ways in which this hierarchy could be interpreted. Firstly, in light of the
aforementioned inefficiency of the previous direction and administration, it is hardly surprising that
Quatremère put in the new administrative structure. The so‐called ‘hierarchy,’ under which the old
workforce had operated, was a ‘vain formality’ that lacked objective authority.77 It was the absence of
tangible power that had driven the former administration into the ground.
78
Therefore Quatremère
aimed to install a true hierarchy endowed with real influence. There is an important distinction to be
made between describing Quatremère as seeking administrative control and as a power‐hungry
‘imperialist.’79
The idea behind the new organization was to avoid corruption by rendering any actions and
correspondence regarding the Pantheon accountable and transparent. In requiring that important acts
72
‘G.V. Taylor claimed that, from 1776‐1789, the monarchy had borrowed 1775 million livres.’ Francois Crouzet, La
Grande Inflation: La monnaie en France de Louis XVI à Napoléon (Paris, 1993), p. 128.
73
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1791), p. 38. Quatremère estimated that the cost of continuing works for the
building’s original function would amount to 2,653,200 livres as opposed to 1,764,290 livres for its secular
function, p. 48.
74
75
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1792), pp. 34‐39.
76
Ibid, p. 44.
77
78
‘As nothing is more the neighbor of despotism than the absence of authority, it results from the current state of
affairs a return to the arbitrary.’ Ibid, p. 21.
79
Sylvia Lavin talks about the ‘imperialist’ notion of Quatremère in Quatremère de Quincy and the Invention of a
Modern Language of Architecture (Cambridge, Mass, London, 1992), p. 167.
16
be approved by the commissioner, Quatremère wanted the Pantheon’s employees to be responsible to
an authority other than themselves. These ideas were integral principles of the Revolution; Article XV of
the Declaration of the Rights of Man denounced public officials who were not accountable.80 Even
Quatremère had to obtain a decree from the directoire de Paris to enact significant decisions.81 He was
also aware that his reports on the Pantheon were likely to be read aloud and discussed by governmental
and artistic bodies, such as the National Assembly82 and Commune des Arts.83 Revolutionary newspapers
in turn published these debates, making them accessible to the public.84 Quatremère advocated public
accountability in government works in his Pantheon reports and writings.85
Quatremère’s relationship to revolutionary politics provokes interest among historians in their
assessments of him. The first issue to be addressed is whether, according to Yvonne Luke, ‘[Quatremère]
was envisaging the Pantheon as a vehicle for the ideology of the political group to which he belonged.’86
The political group to which Luke refers was the feuillants, who supported a constitutional monarchy.87
Luke implies that the political group to which Quatremère belonged was a minority, and that the
commissioner was thus unjustified in promoting its ideology in the sculpture of a national monument.88
Although the existence of multiple and varied political groups cannot be denied, her statement does not
reflect the true balance of French politics in this period. Until the king’s flight to Varennes on 20th June
1791, constitutional monarchy as a mode of government was supported by the majority.89 Even the
popular republican movement that followed was short‐lived, and on 13th September 1791 the
80
William Doyle, The Oxford History of the French revolution (Oxford, 1989), p. 118.
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1792), p 34.
82
Ibid, p. 6.
83
Henry Lapauze, Procès‐verbaux de la Commune des Arts (Paris, 1903), ‘Séance du 16 Ventôse l’an 2 de la
République une et indivisible présidence d’Eynard,’ p. 250.
84
Popkin, Revolutionary News, p. 107. See Le Moniteur Universel, (4 April1791), p. 31 as an example.
85
See the ‘Preface’ to Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport fait au Directoire…sur les travaux entrepris, continues ou
achieves au Panthéon francais depuis le dernier compte rendu le 17 novembre 1792, et sur l’état actuel du
monument, le 2e jour du second mois de l’an II de la République francais une et indivisible, ( Paris, 1793). In
Considérations sur les arts du dessin en France (Paris, 1791), Quatremère discussed the role of the Magistrate as
‘someone who has to receive from the people a portion of authority that he in turn, must return to the people.’ p.
109.
86
87
Encyclopedia definition of the feuillants, http://encyclopedia2.thefreedictionary.com/Feuillants, 16 April 2009.
88
Luke comments that Quatremère was ‘regarded as an uncompromising supporter of the widely hated 1791
Constitution,’ Luke, ‘Politics of Participation,’ p. 28.
89
Doyle, Oxford History of the French Revolution, pp. 153‐154.
81
17
constitution was signed and accepted by the king.90 If Quatremère’s initial plans for the Pantheon
sculpture embodied these principles, they represented the most popular political ideology at the time.
All six artists who signed the contract for the bas‐reliefs of the Pantheon’s exterior on the 4th April 1792
signed the contract as ‘sculpteur du roy’ (sculptor of the King).91 Furthermore, the sculptor who was
charged with designing the main pediment to the building, Jean‐Guillaume Moitte, used the act of
crowning in his portrayal of ‘la liberté courannant la vertu et la patrie’ (Liberty crowning Virtue and the
Fatherland) (figure 11).
If Quatremère did have a particular political ideology in mind, he was nonetheless obliged to modify his
plans according to changes in the political climate. No sooner had he been given the project than the
body that had commissioned him (the National Assembly) was replaced by the Legislative Assembly on
1st October 1791. 92 It was clear Quatremère did not approve of the changing direction of French politics.
Although he became a member of the Comité d’Instruction publique in October 179193, he disagreed
with the increasing republicanism and radicalism of the Legislative. Quatremère later reproached the
Assembly for being ‘an arena of gladiators,’ and was attacked by a rabble during a session on August
8th.94 By the time Quatremère wrote his last report for the building, he was under house arrest by the
Jacobin government and the only freedom he was allowed was to finish his work at the Pantheon.95 The
bitterness he felt towards the changing nature of politics and its negative effects on the Pantheon
commission are evidenced in his ‘Notice historique de M.Roland’ for the Académie des Beaux‐arts. He
referred to the commission with detachment, claiming that the Pantheon was ‘un monument que la
révolution tente de s’approprier, en l’appliquant à une destination politique qu’elle ne tarda pas à
décréditer.’96
Quatremère never actually intended for the Pantheon to be an explicitly political monument. In the
words of Michael Leith, ‘throughout the Revolution, most leaders wanted art to be propaganda but they
90
Ibid, p. 157. See also Nicolas Ruault, Gazette d’un parisien sous la revolution (Paris, 1976). In a letter to his
brother dated the 12 August 1791 he wrote, ‘i feel that it would be better to expose our country to the wrath of
kings, to the dangers of war, than to weaken and spoil our monarchical constitution.’ p. 259
91
A.N. F 13 1935,’contrat avec le premier groupe des sculpteurs pour le Panthéon,’ (4 April 1792).
92
Doyle, Oxford History of the French Revolution, p. 157.
93
Schneider, Quatremère de Quincy et son intervention dans les Arts, p. 7.
94
Ibid, p.8 and Luke, ‘Politics of Participation,’ p. 28.
95
Luke, ‘Politics of Participation’, pp. 30.
96
‘a monument that the Revolution attempted to appropriate for itself, by according it with a political function
that it did not hesitate to discredit.’ Quatremère de Quincy, ‘Notice historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de
M.Roland’, Institut royal de France, la séance publique de l’Académie royale des Beaux‐arts (2 October 1819), p. 8.
18
also wanted France to remain the Greece of the modern world.’97 For Quatremère, the Pantheon was
more than a monument to the Revolution. The principles he hoped it would embody transcended
politics into the sphere of universal principles and aesthetics.98
Quatremère was not only a politician, but also a trained architect and sculptor.99 In 1784 he travelled to
Rome, where he encountered ancient art and architecture.100 It was this experience that inspired his
aesthetic ideals and writings such as his entry in Pancoucke’s Dictionnaire d’architecture (1788)101 and
his proposed reforms for the Académie des Beaux‐arts in Considérations sur les arts du dessin en France
(1791). Pertaining to Enlightenment thought, Quatremère believed that French artists should avoid
simply imitating Classical art and seek to represent a more essential human beauty.102 Quatremère thus
hoped that the Pantheon sculpture’s evocation of aesthetic ideals would commit the principles of the
Revolution to immortality, ensuring that they would resonate in future French societies, whatever their
political persuasion.103
It could be argued that Quatremère only participated in politics so that he could accrue benefits for the
arts. He fought to exempt artists from the law of sequestration on the properties of émigrés so that they
could continue to travel in Europe for their education.104 When the Council of the 500 declared that
artists pay a patent tax for their work, Quatremère argued against this,105 despite having advocated the
State’s encouragement of the arts for its potential industrial value in Considérations sur les arts du
dessin.106 When he was released from prison, he sat on the Jury des Arts, despite his ill‐feelings towards
97
See Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1791), pp. 29‐31; Rapport (1793), pp. 75‐77 for reflexions on universal
aesthetics and Rapport (1791), pp. 25‐26; Rapport (1793), p. 29.
99
Schneider, Quatremère de Quincy et son intervention dans les Arts, pp. 387‐389.
100
Ibid, p. 387.
101
Quatremère de Quicy, ‘Architecture,’ Ed. Panckouke, Dictionnaire d’architecture (Paris, 1788)
102
Quatremère de Quincy, De l’idéal dans ses applications pratiques (Paris, 1837), p. 6.
103
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1793), p. 66. On 9th February 1792, the Legislative Assembly decreed that the
possessions of émigrés should be sequestered by the Nation. On the 30th March, ‘the émigrés’ were defined as
anybody out of the country without legitimate excuse since the 1st July 1789.
104
Schneider, Quatremère de Quincy et son intervention dans les Arts, p. 381.
105
Ibid, p. 353.
106
Quatremère de Quincy, Considérations sur les Arts du dessin, p. 58.
98
19
the Jacobin Government.107 After the Revolution, he distanced himself from politics and spent the
Napoleonic era as the secretary to the Académie des Beaux‐arts.108
Quatremère’s commitment to the arts was present from the very beginning of the Pantheon
commission. In his first report, he stressed that the symbolic representation of ‘la patrie’ was not
designed to rival other creeds, but embody a universal religion of fraternity.109 There was a lack, in his
opinion, of recent historical personages to decorate the Pantheon, which is why he used allegorical
representations.110 The sculpture that eventually decorated the Pantheon did not portray men of the
Revolution. Hugh Gough underlines the error of historians to attribute the development of neo‐classical
art as a direct result of the Revolution. 111As mentioned in the introduction, the rationalization of artistic
emblems into an allegorical vocabulary preceded the Revolution.112 Therefore, Quatremère only sought
to engage with ideas that were believed to be truly universal at the time and distinct from politics.
Quatremère was far from being the autocrat historians have previously claimed. The affirmative tone in
Quatremère’s reports‐ often interpreted as a sign of authoritarianism‐ represented more a need to
legitimize his actions in a project that had a previous history. The ideas that the Revolution propagated,
especially of accountability and transparency in government, were reflected in Quatremère’s reforms of
the administration under the new commission, from which he was not exempt. However, Quatremère
did not base the Pantheon commission on a strictly political agenda. In his vision of the Pantheon, he
had a more long‐term aim. According to Quatremère, the power of the political ideas of in the Pantheon
sculpture resided in whether they represented essential human qualities and insofar as these qualities
were represented in an art form that would do those qualities justice. It was in this sense that
Quatremère thus considered art as a veritable form of power.
107
Quatremère’s position in the Academy is specified in Quatremère de Quincy, ‘Notice historique sur la vie et les
ouvrages de M.M. Dejoux et Lecomte,’ Institut de France,La séance publique de l’Académie royale des Beaux‐arts
(3 October, 1818); ‘Notice historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de M.Roland’ Institut de France,La séance publique
de l’Académie royale des Beaux‐arts (2 October 1819).
109
110
111
Hugh Honour, Neo‐Classicism (London, 1968), pp. 70‐78.
112
Antoine de Baecque, ‘Allegorical Image of France’, p. 117‐125.
108
20
Artists, art and historical agency
[Art] may become intelligible only within the context of given and imposed structures of meaning; but in
its turn it can alter and at times disrupt these structures.113
T.J. Clark, Image of the People: Gustave Courbet and the 1848 revolution (1973)
In his notion of ‘the social history of art’, T.J. Clark reclaimed the influence of art and artists in the
historical process. As the previous chapter has shown, Quatremère was sympathetic to the arts and
envisaged the Pantheon as a monument also emulating aesthetic ideals. Why, therefore, does the role
of the Pantheon sculptors not feature in historians’ evaluation of the monument?
This omission indicates the issues in relating art to history. The ways in which power has been previously
considered in the Pantheon project show historians’ tendency to view the role of artists and aesthetic
debates as secondary to politics. After the emergence of social history and Marxist theory, historians
and art historians viewed art as solely conditioned by the circumstances of its production. 114 Traditional
art history, which supported the autonomy of art from history, was considered an arbitrary narrative
that constituted its own logic but was disconnected from reality.115These debates limited artworks to
being reflections of history, not its active participants. Thus integrating art into historical research
continues to be a contentious enterprise.
It is plausible, therefore, that this methodological bias has distorted our understanding of the Pantheon
project. Undeniably, the French Revolution changed the relationship between art and politics, but the
error of historians has been to consider art produced at that time as an embodiment, or even
113
T.J. Clark,’ The Social History of Art’, Image of the People: Gustave Courbet and the 1848 revolution (London,
1973), p. 13.
114
Donald Preziosi, ‘The End(s) of Art History’, Rethinking Art History (New Haven and London, 1989), pp. 159‐160.
115
Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception, p. 51.
21
anticipation, of political change.116 Artists were considered as ‘vehicles’ of this ideology, which removed
the individual from the creation of his117 work.
However, it is important to move away from these conceptions. There are three principal ways that we
can consider the power of the sculptors in the Pantheon project. The first of these constitutes the
‘power in the subject;’ i.e. how the role of the artist118 was valued in late eighteenth century French
society. The chapter will then move on to analyze power relationships, focusing on the organization of
the artistic workforce and the relationship between Quatremère and the sculptors and amongst the
sculptors themselves. The third section will outline the ‘power in the object,’ which denotes the
dynamics of power in creating the sculpture.
As outlined in the introductory chapter, in his call for social reform, Diderot underlined the necessity of
the arts in making stoical values comprehensible to the people. The reforms implemented by Lenormant
de Tournehem in the 1740s were designed to enhance artists’ ability to fulfill their social function by
broadening artists’ education into areas such as History and Classics.119 Contemporaries believed that
the most suitable mediums through which reform would be achieved were sculpture and historical
painting.120 These ideas were taken on by the first revolutionary government, who considered sculpture,
in its size, grandeur and public placement, as an effective means of instilling a sense of patriotism to the
new French Nation.121 The National Assembly, recognizing its lack of funding from the commercial
market, increased patronage of large‐scale sculptural projects to 100,000 livres per annum.122 These
attitudes signaled, according to Hugh Honour, ‘a new and more elevated estimate of the artist and his
role in society,’123 which in turn led to ‘a greater sense of independence’ among artists.’124
116
Honour, Neo‐classicism, p. 75. Honour discusses this in relation to Jacques Louis David, and claims by historians
that he was a republican and precursor of the Revolution.
117
This dissertation will refer to the artist and/or sculptor as ‘he’ because prominent artists in France in the late
eighteenth century were largely male.
118
‘Artist’ in this dissertation refers to both painters and sculptors, but where appropriate, the vocation of sculptor
will be specified. The 1791 Pantheon commission only comprised of sculpture.
119
Honour, Neo‐classicism, p. 22.
120
For sculpture, see Quatremère de Quincy, Considérations sur les Arts du dessin, p. 162 and for painting see
Wrigley, The Origins of French Art Criticism, p. 305.
121
See Quatremère de Quincy, Considérations sur les Arts du dessin, p. 80. See also A.N. D 38 2, ‘Memoire du
comité d’instruction publique,’ (16 June 1792).
122
123
Honour, Neo‐Classicism, p. 19.
124
Ibid, p. 89.
22
In Quatremère’s opinion, government patronage of large‐ scale sculpture was not meant to subject the
sculptor to the will of his patron, but ‘provide sufficient means to encourage a revival in the arts.’125 The
wider education of the artist was also designed to complement his vocation, not make it secondary to
his educative role.126 The effective mobilization of the arts depended as much on the artists’ potential as
government patronage. It was due to the artists’ capabilities, both intuitive and learned, that art could
do more than simply instruct, but inspire. In the words of Jean‐Louis Dupain‐Triel ‘son vrai catéchisme
sont ses sensations; et plus elles sont vives, plus étant dirigées par le penchant dominant, elles animent
les productions.’127
The sculptors chosen for the Pantheon project were well‐known exponents of the neo‐classical style.
They were selected not for their political persuasions, but because of the acclaim their work had
received. Jean‐Guillaume Moitte, who was charged with the Pantheon’s main pediment, had
demonstrated his expertise in the neo‐classical style with his sculpture of the Italian philosopher Cassini
(1787), which had been praised not only for its artistic merit, but choice of subject (figure 12). 128 On the
eve of the Revolution, he had secured a number of important commissions for public monuments, such
as an altar for the cathedral in Senlis and two sculpted lions for the Mairie of Toulouse.
129
It was also
common knowledge that Claude Dejoux was ‘l’artiste le plus exercé dans le genre colossal, si bien connu
pour le grand groupe qu’il exposa il y a plusiers années au Salon du Louvre,’ which won him the
commission for the Pantheon’s colossal statue of ‘la renommée’ (figure 13). 130 Quatremère claimed that
the commissions secured by the sculptor Roland in his lifetime, including the Pantheon bas‐relief,
‘venaient chercher M. Roland car ce n’était pas lui qui allait au‐devant.’131
125
Quatremère de Quincy, Considérations sur les Arts du dessin, p. 145.
Wrigley, Origins of French Art Criticism, p. 307.
127
‘His [the artists’] real catechisms are sensations; and the livelier they are, the more that they are driven by a
dominating penchant, then the more they animate his productions.’ Jean‐Louis Dupain‐Triel, Considérations sur les
arts et les artistes du temps (Paris, 1783), p. 31.
128
Gramaccini, ‘Jean‐Guillaume Moitte et la révolution francaise,’ p. 62.
129
Ibid, p. 61.
130
‘the most expert artist in the colossal genre, well known for the large group that he exposed several years ago
at the Louvre Salon.’ A.N. F 13 1935, ‘Projet et réponse de l’arrêté de la commune’ (30 May 1793). Please note that
there is no direct translation for ‘la renomée’, which was a distinct character in revolutionary allegory, represented
in the form of a woman with a horn or trumpet. The adjective ‘renommée’ in the French language means
‘renowned’ or ‘celebrated’. In the context of the Pantheon ‘la renommée’ represented the pride of the French
nation and the promotion of its values among the people.
131
‘came to look for M. Roland because it was not him that searched for them.’ Quatremère de Quincy, ‘Notice
historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de M.Roland,’ p. 5.
126
23
Quatremère did not assign the Pantheon sculptors with their subjects arbitrarily, but with an awareness
of the personality of each artist and what they could bring to the commission.132 Jean‐Guillaume
Moitte’s ability to render ‘à l’orfévrerie des formes et un style qui transformerent une richesse brute et
de mauvais goût en objets d’art’ had secured him one of the most important commissions in the
project.133 Quatremère unsurprisingly assigned the bas‐relief entitled ‘la dévouement à la patrie’
(Devotion to the Fatherland, figure 14) to Antoine Chaudet, who, according to the Académie des Beaux‐
arts possessed ‘la douceur des moeurs que le commerce des arts devrait inspirer à ceux qui ne les
auraient pas recu de la nature.’134 Quatremère himself said of Claude Dejoux that ‘l’imitation de
l’antiquité eut été chez lui un effet de l’instinct, à defaut de réflexion.’135 Artistic genius was an elusive
concept, which could not be understood by men of reason.136 In his reports, Quatremère demonstrated
respect for this genius, and a belief that it would transform the Pantheon for the better.137
Quatremère’s own background in the arts was an important factor in his relationships with the
Pantheon sculptors. As discussed in the first chapter, he had once been an aspiring architect and
sculptor. In his Refutation de la seconde suite aux considerations sur les arts du dessin (1791), Antoine
Renou, the secretary of the Painting Academy claimed that it was due to Quatremère’s failure to
succeed as an artist that led to his denigration of the Academy.138 Moitte and Quatremère were both
trained in the workshop of French sculptor Pigalle.139 Prior to the commission, many of the Pantheon
sculptors had made the customary voyage to Rome for their artistic education; Quatremère even met
Moitte in 1784 on one such voyage.140 Quatremère and the Pantheon sculptors increasingly moved in
the same circles. In her journal, Madame Moitte describes how Claude Dejoux came to the Moitte
132
Joachim le Breton, Notice historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de M. Moitte (Paris, 1812), p. 30.
‘the silverness to forms and a style that transformed crude pompousness and bad taste into works of art.’ Ibid,
p. 33.
134
‘the gentleness of morals that the arts should inspire in those who have not received them from birth.’ Joachim
le Breton, ‘Notice Historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de M. Chaudet’, Institut de France, la Séance publique du 5
octobre 1811, p. 29.
135
‘imitation of antiquity was for him an effect of instinct, a reflex.’ Quatremère de Quincy, ‘Notice historique sur
la vie et les ouvrages de M.M. Dejoux et Lecomte’, p. 7.
136
Dupain Triel, Considérations sur les arts et les artistes du temps, p. 5.
137
Despite the disorder and inefficiency of the previous administration, Quatremère claimed that it was ‘the
ornamental sculptors that, for a long time, sustained the Sainte‐Geneviève workshop,’ Quatremère de Quincy,
Rapport (1791), p. 18. He also admitted that the onus was on artists in society to make allegorical language a
coherent vocabulary, Rapport (1793), p. 76.
138
Antoine Renou, Réfutation de la seconde suite aux considérations sur les arts du dessin (Paris, 1791), p. 1.
139
For Quatremère see Schneider, Quatremère de Quincy et son intervention dans les arts, p. 389 and for Moitte
see Madame Moitte, Journal inédit de Mme.Moitte (Paris, 1932), pp. 3‐4.
140
Schneider, Quatremère de Quincy et son intervention dans les arts, p. 387.
133
24
household during the taking of the Bastille.141 The painter Jacques Louis David recommended Claude
Dejoux to Quatremère as sculptor for ‘la renommée.’142 It was a testament to Quatremère’s work for
the arts that the majority of signatures on the petition for his prison release in 1794 were signed by
artists from the Commune des Arts.143 The relationship between Quatremère and the Pantheon artists
thus had its roots in shared experience and aesthetic beliefs. It is not surprising that he felt confident in
claiming that ‘sur ce qui se fait au Panthéon, je n’en ai pas encore trouvé un qui ne soit d’accord avec
moi.’144
Quatremère’s beliefs regarding the need to encourage the arts and artistic employment instilled him
with a sense of responsibility for those he enlisted on the project. It is significant that the Pantheon was
the only consistent source of employment for sculptors throughout the Revolution, an operation that he
tended with great care.145 Although, as Yvonne Luke points out, he did not use the system of concours
publiques (public competitions) that he had advocated in Considérations sur les arts du dessin,146 he did
go to significant lengths to employ a large number of sculptors. If the project for the colonnade around
the Pantheon’s dome had gone ahead (figure 15), the Pantheon commission would have employed 58
artists in total, comprised of the six original artists charged with the exterior work: Boichot, Chaudet,
Dejoux, Fortu, Moitte and Roland, the 16 pendentive sculptors, and the 36 artists that would have been
required for the colonnade.147 As director of the project this was no obligation, but it appears that
Quatremere nonetheless felt pressured to accommodate artists’ demands or at least justify his actions
to them.148
As a result of Quatremère’s reforms of the working hierarchy, the sculptors felt that they could voice
their concerns and more importantly that these concerns would be heard and acted upon. The fact the
sculptors used letter‐writing as their preferred means of communication is also significant, because it
ensured that their opinions would be recorded. A primary example appears in the correspondence
141
Mme. Moitte, Journal inédit de Mme.Moitte, p. 7.
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘Projet et réponse de l’arrêté de la commune’ (30 May 1793).
143
This is not insignificant, as he had been expelled from this committee on 25 May 1792; Schneider, Quatremère
de Quincy et son intervention dans les arts, p. 350.
144
‘Regarding what is being done to the Pantheon, I have not found one person who has disagreed with me.’Biver,
Panthéon à l’époque révolutionnaire, p. 40.
145
Luke, ‘Politics of Participation’, p. 32.
146
Quatremère de Quincy, Considérations sur les arts du dessin, pp. 141‐145.
147
148
He uses the last section of his final report on the Pantheon to justify his method of direct commissioning. Ibid,
p. 79.
142
25
regarding the competition for the execution of the pendentives of the central dome. The sculptors of
these pendentives were to be chosen out of the sixteen who had worked on those for the secondary
domes. The sculptor Chardieu, who had been charged with the pendentives ‘l’éloquence’ (eloquence)
and ‘la poésie et l’élégance’ (poetry and elegance), sent a letter to his fifteen colleagues and
Quatremère asking that they re‐evaluate his pendentives on the basis that the judges had seen them
while the scaffolding had still been in place and had thus not seen their full potential.149 Dejoux also sent
a letter to the inspector Soufflot complaining about the absence of places to eat in the quarter and
requested that the administration increase food provisions for his atelier.150
Quatremère hoped to create a spirit of fraternity and creativity amongst the sculptors. Although
Quatremère specified the subjects for each sculpture,151 the onus was on the sculptors to come up with
their designs. Quatremère himself did not create a single design, and was even timid in offering his own
plans for an altar dedicated to ‘la patrie’ (figure 16).152 When the directoire de Paris decided that the
competition for the central pendentives would be judged by a government‐selected panel, Quatremère
advocated that the judges should comprise of the sculptors themselves.153 The competition then
proceeded by a series of weekly elections, whereby the sixteen sculptors, as well as 11 additional
judges, would evaluate the pendentives and elect the winners.154 Moreover, the sculptors’ payment was
not valued according to individual talent, but on the demands of the sculpture they had been assigned.
The original contracts for the bas‐reliefs were valued at 4,000 livres, the sixteen pedentives 1400 livres
and the four central pendentives at 1700 livres.155
At first glance, the contracts drawn up by Quatremère with the Pantheon sculptors depict a relationship
based on expectations and surveillance. The contracts were incredibly detailed, listing every aspect of
the sculptor’s work and what was expected of him. But this stringency is unsurprising regarding the
financial trouble that the previous Pantheon administration had gotten itself into. The fact that
Quatremère had published an estimated total cost of the project in his first report meant that he was
149
Ibid.
A.N. 56 AJ 25 ‘Au citoyen Soufflot inspecteur du Panthéon francais.’
151
152
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1793), p. 35‐36.
153
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘les 4 Grands Pendetifs de la Coupole’
154
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘Extrait de l’arrêté du Directoire portant nomination de la 16 sculpteurs.’
155
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘ Contrat avec les sculpteurs du 5 bas reliefs’; ‘contrat avec les sculpteurs des 16 pendentifs’;
‘contrat des 4 sculpteurs pour les pendetifs de la coupole.’
150
26
pressured to match it and it thus made sense to ask the sculptors to keep a full record of expenditure.156
It is also important to consider these contracts in the context of sculptural commissioning practices in
the late eighteenth century. The problem with these commissions for patrons was the fact that they
were often forced to judge a sculptor’s merit on the basis of his sketches, which did not always exactly
resemble the final sculpture.157 The requirement of the sculptor to stick to his original drawings was thus
a common feature in the Pantheon contracts.158 Sculpture, especially in marble, was costly, and it made
sense to place a certain degree of surveillance on the sculptor.
In fact, these contracts were not aimed to restrict the sculptor in his work, but place him in control of his
commission and increase the efficiency of the working process. The contracts made the sculptor
administrator, accountant and creator of his work. Not only were the sculptors required to keep an
inventory of all expenses, but also employ their workforce, and find their own materials. 159 Quatremère
lamented that under the old administration the sculptors had suffered because without any system of
payment throughout their commissions they had been forced to pay for their materials on credit, on top
of which they had been obliged to pay interest.160 Since money under the new contracts was to be given
in installments the sculptors for the new commission could avoid these pitfalls. This process also gave
the sculptors a stable salary in a period of increased economic insecurity. As early as March 1790,
French citizens remarked the scarcity of fixed currency, and it was common practice for employers in
other industries to enforce part or full payment in assignats.161 The sculptors’ payment in livres meant
that they would always be able to obtain the materials they needed.
It is nonetheless important to note that these contracts were not binding agreements and were subject
to negotiation. Sculptural commissions were volatile enterprises, frequently resulting in increased
spending and delays. There are several examples of contracts signed by Claude Dejoux for ‘la
156
See footnote 72 for Quatremère’s estimated costs for the project. In A.N. 56 AJ 25, there are a series of
Dejoux’s receipts.
157
Luke, ‘The politics of participation,’ p.33.
158
A.N. F 13 195, ‘contrat des 4 sculpteurs pour les pendetifs de la coupole.’
159
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1792), p. 46. In Dejoux’s contract for ‘la Renommée’, he was expected
‘to provide all the materials for the model and pay his workforce.’ A.N. F 13 1935.
160
161
Crouzet, La Grande Inflation, p. 144‐ 149. The assignat was a ‘paper bill issued in France as currency from 1789
to 1796, during the Revolution. A financial expedient on the part of the Revolutionary government, the increasing
issuance
of
the
assignats
resulted
in
inflation.’
Encyclopedia
definition
of
‘Assignat,’
http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/39316/assignat,18 April 2009. See Appendix 2 for further
information.
27
renommée,’ which have varying dates of completion.162 The estimations for such a large‐scale work
could not rely on Quatremère’s opinion alone; evidenced in his letter to Dejoux asking the sculptor to
provide the opinion of ‘someone he trusts’ on the cost of ‘la renommée.’163 The inflation experienced in
the initial years of the Revolution affected the artists in their purchase of materials and the value of their
installments. Moitte was awarded an indemnity of 4,000 livres because of how much ‘dans cet éspace
de deux années les prix de toutes choses ont augmenté.’164 After he had completed his work on the
Pantheon, Moitte requested more works, lodgings and money because of the economic downturn.
165
When Dejoux later requested for a 250% increase in payment for ‘la Renommée’ his demand was also
fulfilled.166
There is evidence that certain sculptors enjoyed a more privileged rapport with Quatremère. In these
cases, they were often able to by‐pass administrative formalities and deal with the commissioner
directly. Moitte is a pertinent example of this kind of relationship. He was a sculptor that Quatremère
greatly admired, to whom he entrusted the most important work of the Pantheon project. After
Quatremère received Dejoux’s estimate with an ‘opinion he trusted,’ he also asked Moitte to estimate a
price.167 Moreover, it is closer to this price that the contract for ‘la Renommée’ was fixed.168 It seemed
that the sculptor later used his position to exert an influence on the commission. In a letter dated the 3rd
October 1791, Moitte requested that Quatremère employ a fellow sculptor on the project (M. Mongin),
because the latter’s shyness often prevented him from securing work.169 He also knew that he could rely
on Quatremère’s support concerning matters of importance. When the Comité des travaux publics
asked Moitte for his advice on re‐evaluating Dejoux’s contract for ‘la renommée’, he refused to co‐
operate unless the Jury des Arts was officially represented in the debate; a body of which Quatremère
was a member.170
162
A.N. F 13 195, ‘Contrat de Claude Dejoux pour la statue de la renommée.’
A.N. F 13 1935, ‘Copie d’une lettre écrite par le citoyen Dejoux au citoyen Quatremère’ (15 March 1793).
164
‘how much in the space of two years that prices have risen.’ Gisela Gramaccini, Jean‐Guillaume Moitte (1764‐
1810) (Berlin, 1993),’ Moitte au Quatremère de Quincy, 15 Janvier 1794,’ p. 265.
165
A.N. D 38 2 ‘Péitition de Citoyen Moitte, sculpteur.’
166
Société de l’histoire de l’art francais, Revue de l’art francais ancient et moderne, vol. 8 (Paris 1892), p. 149.
167
Gramaccini, Jean‐Guillaume Moitte, ‘Moitte au Quatremere de Quincy, 20 Mars 1793,’ pp. 264‐265.
168
Moitte estimated 49,000 livres, whereas Dejoux’s ‘trusted opinion’ Julien estimated 55‐66,000 and Dejoux
60,000 livres; Ibid; A.N. F 13 1935,’lettre écrite par le citoyen Julien au citoyen Dejoux, 10 Mars 1793;’ ‘copie de la
lettre écrite par le citoyen Dejoux au citoyen Quatremère, 15 Mars 1793.’
169
Gramaccini, Jean‐Guillaume Moitte, ‘Moitte au Quatremere de Quincy, 3 Octobre 1791,’ p. 264.
170
Yvonne Luke, ‘Politics of Participation,’ p. 38.
163
28
However, it is important to note that a sculptors’ relative power did not depend on a favorable rapport
with Quatremère. In his petition ‘demande de secours,’ Moitte argued that with Quatremère’s
incarceration ‘alors sont disparus toutes mes ésperances,’171but it was likely that he was exaggerating
his dependence on the director, because soon afterwards in July 1795 he secured the commission to
work on the sculpture of the Louvre Galleries.172 Although Quatremère found Dejoux difficult to work
with, he nonetheless admired his diligence and genius. He even remarked that his virtuousness made
him a strong‐minded character, which Quatremère could hardly reproach. 173 The commissioner did not
only employ sculptors he got on well with, he employed most talented artists in the field of neo‐classical
sculpture.
The process of creating the Pantheon sculpture was no easy task. Revisionist perspectives of the French
Revolution have encouraged historians to consider the period, not as a logical sequence of events, but
as a vacuum of power, in which politicians were forced to think on their feet.174 In the cultural sphere, it
was a time of great freedom and creativity, where T.J. Clark’s concept of the artist ‘juggling with multiple
meanings’ was pertinent.175 Historians attempt to use political, social and even economic factors in
explaining art, but there still exists, ‘a gap between the artist’s social experience and his activity in
formal representation.’176 The concepts founded by the Revolution, such as Liberty, Equality and
Fraternity had no precedents, which gave artists a certain degree of freedom in representing them.
It is true that Quatremère assigned the sculptors with their subjects, but as discussed previously, this
was done in accordance with the sculptor’s individual talents and personalities and implies that
Quatremère wanted the talents and personalities of these sculptors to have a bearing on the outcome
of the sculpture. It is no coincidence that one of Moitte’s pendentive designs shows the loyal citizen
offering money to ‘la patrie’ because his wife had famously given her jewellery to the National Assembly
(figure 17),177which was a feature of the pendentive that Quatremère praised.178 Moitte’s inspiration for
171
‘and thus disappeared all my hopes.’A.N. D 38 4 ‘Petition de Citoyen Moitte, sculpteur.’
Madame Moitte, Journal inédit de Mme.Moitte, p. 7.
173
Quatremère de Quincy, ‘Notice historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de M.M. Dejoux et Lecomte,’ p. 10.
174
See William Doyle, Origins of the French Revolution (Oxford, 1999) for revisionist theory on the French
Revolution.
175
T.J. Clark, Image of the People, p. 18.
176
Ibid, pp. 12‐13.
172
178
29
the main pediment stemmed from his own treatise on ‘l’écrasement du déspotisme et du fanatisme.’179
It is likely, in asserting that the sculpture was unequivocal, Quatremère was aiming to reassure the
revolutionary government of their financial and symbolic investment in the building. 180 In fact, even his
own interpretation of Ramey’s pendentive ‘la musique et l’architecture’ (Music and Architecture) was
incorrect; the character ‘architecture’ was not leaning on the dome of the Pantheon as he had claimed,
but an ionic capital, which was a familiar emblem in classic iconography (figure 18).181
It is important not to consider neo‐classicism as a uniform aesthetic. The Pantheon artists’
interpretations of the genre were arguably less severe than Quatremère’s. This manifested clearly in
Moitte’s designs for the four pendentives, which play with the shape of the pendentive (figure 19). They
depict figures in movement with flowing ribbons and hair, which contrasts with the static positioning of
Quatremère’s figures for his ‘Autel à la patrie’ (figure 16). Ramey’s pendentive also strayed from strict
neo‐classicism because ‘la grâce des attitudes et la souple retombée des vêtements évoquent plutôt le
charme délicat de Chinard et de Marin dans leurs petits ouvrages (figure 6).’ 182
The Pantheon sculpture provided an opportunity for new ways of thinking about symbolic
representation. According to Quatremère, the Greeks and Romans showed their sculptural genius in the
pediments to their buildings.183 One can see how Moitte used the form of the pediment to complement
his design. He placed ‘la liberté’ in the centre of the composition, at the pediment’s summit. ‘Le
déspotisme’ (Despotism) was tucked into the lower left corner of the pediment, crushed by the chariot
of ‘la vertu’(Virtue), the inferiority of the former highlighted by his compromised position (figure 11).184
The pediment’s design and scale was, according to Quatremère, ‘le plus grand en ce genre, et peut‐être
le seul dans son éspace qui existe chez les people modernes.’185
Creating the Pantheon sculpture posed unprecedented challenges, which resulted in novel outcomes.
Michel Gallet, a former curator of the Musée Carnavelet, found another sketch of Ramey’s pendentive
179
‘The crushing of Depostism and Fanaticism,’ G.Vauthier, ‘Panthéon sous l’époque révolutionnaire,’ p. 404.
181
Michel Gallet, ‘Un modèle du sculpteur Claude Ramey pour la décoration révolutionnaire du Panthéon,’ Bulletin
du Musée Carnavelet, n. 2, (Nov 1965), pp. 18‐19.
182
‘ the grace of its posture and soft fall of its clothing evoke more the delicate charm of Chinard and Marin in their
smaller works.’ Ibid, p. 19.
183
184
Vauthier, ‘Panthéon sous l’époque révolutionnaire,’ p. 403.
185
‘The largest in its genre and maybe the only one of its kind that exists amongst modern peoples.’ Quatremère
de Quincy, Rapport (1793), p. 5.
180
30
entitled ‘la peinture et l’architecture’ (Painting and Architecture), which was dated before ‘la musique et
l’architecture’ and thus demonstrates Quatremère’s hesitation in his choice of subjects.186 The working
drawings for Moitte’s pediment in the Archives Nationales show how, in the final version, the sculptor
inverted his design (figure 11). The fact that the commissioner asked for several opinions on the pricing
of ‘la renomée’ was a testament to the fact that ‘on n’a jamais fait en France de colosse dans cette
dimension.’187 Dejoux and the artists working on the commission originally wanted ‘la renommée’ to be
executed in bronze, but for economy’s sake, Quatremère proposed that it be erected in stone. The
compromise was to use lead, which had both the appearance of bronze, yet was cheap enough to be
used in such large quantities.188 Quatremère’s plans for the colossal statue also inspired the idea of
creating an observatory in the interior of the dome’s summit, which would result in a union of scientific
and artistic progress.189
Hitherto, the influence of artists has been unjustifiably ignored regarding the 1791 Pantheon
commission. Contemporaries esteemed the role of the artist in society and Quatremère recognized the
reputations, talents and personalities of the sculptors he enlisted. They were all members of the same
artistic community, with shared experience and aesthetic beliefs. These factors influenced the
relationship between Quatremère and the sculptors, which sometimes even shifted in the artists’ favor.
The Revolution was an inherently creative time in art and politics and allowed multiple ideas about
allegorical representation to surface. The challenges involved in such an unprecedented feat of public
sculpture produced imaginative outcomes. Another challenge in producing such art was making it
accessible to the wider public, which prompts the question of whether Quatremère and the Pantheon
sculptors had succeeded, in the Pantheon sculpture, in creating a genuinely ‘public’ form of art.
186
Michel Gallet, ‘Un modèle du sculpteur Claude Ramey pour la décoration révolutionnaire du Panthéon,’ p. 19.
‘a colossal statue of this dimension has never before been made in France.’ Biver, Panthéon à l’époque
révolutionnaire, p. 62.
188
Ibid, p. 18.
189
187
31
The public and the power of art
A theme in Quatremère’s writings was the importance given to the public’s reception of art.190
However, who exactly was this public and what was its influence on the Pantheon commission?
To answer this question, two notions of the public are pertinent. The first is the concept of the public as
a projected ideal and the second as the ‘real’ public. It was the former concept of the public that was
most influential in conceiving the Pantheon commission. With regards to the ‘real’ public, the most that
this chapter can achieve is by showing the multiple ways in which various people did, or could have
interpreted the Pantheon’s sculpture. In the late eighteenth century, one could increasingly talk of an
art‐viewing public, the opinions of which can be found in published criticism. This criticism was
significant, but by no means representative of wider society. Factors such as the precedent set by the
previous works on the Pantheon and the impact of revolutionary events were also crucial in shaping the
wider public’s reception of its sculpture. Equally, however, one must not see their reactions as solely
conditioned by these outside influences, because they arguably showed the power of the Pantheon in
shaping public opinion in other spheres.
In his review of Thomas E. Crowe’s Painters and Public life in eighteenth century Paris (1985), Thomas
Puttfarken commented on the lack of historical works dealing with the notion of the public in the
eighteenth century.191 Jurgen Habermas’ theory of ‘the public sphere’ was a significant development in
this field. He described ‘the public’ as an abstract entity, more accurately defined as ‘public opinion,’
which represented ‘the sphere of private people coming together as public.’192Composed mainly of
bourgeois men, the public sphere made increasing demands on the monarchy to make financial and
political matters public. These developments eventually led to the transfer of ‘ultimate authority from
the public person of the sovereign to the sovereign person of the public.’193 Habermas’ theory ties in
190
See Appendix 3.
Thomas Puttfarken, ’Who’s public?’, The Burlington Magazine, Vol. 29, No. 1011 ( June 1987), pp. 397‐399, p.
397.
192
Harold Mah, ’Phantasies of the public sphere: rethinking the Habermas of Historians’, The Journal of Modern
History, Vol. 72, No. 1 (March 2000), pp. 153‐182, p. 156.
193
K. Baker, ‘Political opinion as political intervention,’ ed. P.Jones, The French Revolution in Social and Political
Perspective (London, 1996), p. 136.
191
32
with Rousseau’s concept of ‘the general will,’ which was defined by the synthesis of opinion among the
people.194 It was not arbitrary, but coalesced naturally, and thus constituted the most democratic means
of judgment in society.195
As discussed in the first chapter, the revolutionary government that came to power in 1789 considered
itself responsible to the general will. Regarding the Pantheon project, ultimately Quatremère felt
accountable not to the government that had commissioned him, but public opinion. The second chapter
outlined the artists’ increasingly ‘public’ role in social reform. The commissioner’s belief in public
opinion and what it might want from the commission were the motivations behind the representation
of ‘universal’ values in the Pantheon’s art. The artists already employed on the commission at the time
of the first report had argued that the Pantheon’s sculpture could be universal by representing multiple
creeds, but Quatremère countered these arguments by proclaiming that there was no religion more
universal than morality.196
Eighteenth century enlightenment thinkers argued that anyone was capable of judging a work of art; a
belief that became increasingly widespread in French society. These ideas surfaced as early as 1719 in
Jean Baptiste Dubos’ Reflexions critiques. Ability to discern the ‘le bon goût’ (good taste) in a work of art
derived from intuition, not learned experience.197 In outlining his reforms for the Académie des Beaux‐
arts, Quatremère argued that it was wrong for artists to have their work assessed by the arbitrary rules
of the Academy, as it should be ‘l’amour et le goût du people, la nature et les monuments, voilà leurs
éncouragements, voilà leur école.’198 Especially regarding the fact that the Pantheon was a public
monument, there was nothing more suitable than ‘de prendre en cela le public éclairé pour juge.’199
The public were not only the superior judge of the arts but also their primary benefactor. This idea
developed from enlightenment thought regarding the historical nature of beauty; if the beauty of art
was not universal, then it could only be appreciated by the society for which it was produced and would
194
Jean‐Jacques Rousseau, ‘Book IV, Chapter I, ‘that the general will is indestructible’, the Social Contract (London,
1961), p. 85.
195
Ibid.
196
197
See ‘Preface’, Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1793) for Quatremère’s opinions on ‘le bon gout.’
198
‘ the love and taste of the people, nature and monuments; there is their encouragement, there is their school.’
Quatremère de Quincy, Considérations sur les Arts du Dessin, p. 35.
199
‘ to take the enlightened public as its judge.’ Charles Vilette, Lettres choisies de Charles Vilette sur les princiaux
evenements de la Révolution (Paris, 1792).
33
only be useful in so far as that society learnt from it. 200 The sculptural representations in the Pantheon
portray revolutionary concepts such as ‘le patriotisme’ (Patriotism) as reciprocal relationships between
government and its people. In Moitte’s main pediment for example, ‘on verrait d’une part ce que la
patrie fait pour l’homme et de l’autre, ce que l’homme doit à la patrie (figure 11).’201
It was likely, in his reference to ‘le bon goût,’ that Quatremère envisaged a large portion of the
Pantheon’s public to be art connoisseurs. However, the latter should not be mistaken as an insignificant
portion of the population; by the beginning of the Revolution, a wider public than ever before were
viewing, purchasing and commenting on artworks. In the early eighteenth century, viewing and
purchasing art had largely taken place in the private sphere, and outside the Académie royale
opportunities for artists to exhibit their work were limited.202 However, towards the end of the century,
the Salons’ popularity rose; in 1783 the Observations générales estimated a total of 500,000‐600,000
visitors.203 These visitors were also from an increasingly ‘popular’ demographic.204 The Comte
d’Angivilliers initiated a project to turn the Tuileries and Louvre galleries into a museum dedicated to ‘les
grands hommes’ of the Nation.205 It was also in the early years of the Revolution that the Louvre palace
was transformed into a fine art museum.206 In large part, the established reputations of the Pantheon
artists were due to the exposure of their works in public exhibitions. 207Even artistic institutions, such as
the Commune des Arts, invited the public to sit on their sessions.
208
These developments created art
criticism as a discipline and literary form in its own right, which, according to Richard Wrigley, was
capable of making and destroying a work of art.209
200
Quatremère evoked the analogy of the inventor and his machine in representing the role of the artist; ‘whilst
society attributes a discovery or useful machine to the inventor, it is not for the man himself, but for the fact that it
serves the public interest who ordered it.’ Quatremère de Quincy, Considérations sur les Arts du Dessin, p. 104.
201
‘one will see on one hand what the Nation does for man and on the other hand what man must do for the his
Nation.’ Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1791), p. 25.
202
Richard Wrigley, Origins of French Art Criticism, p. 38.
203
Ibid, p. 80.
204
Ibid, p. 81.
205
Monipot de la Chapotte, Notice historique de Pigal (Paris, 1790), p. 20.
206
Andrew McCellan, Inventing the Louvre: art, politics and the origins of the modern museum in eighteenth
century Paris (Cambridge, 1994).
207
See footnote 128 of this dissertation. Four of the sculptors of the 1791 Pantheon commission; Julien, Dejoux,
Boichot and Roland, worked on the statues of the Duc de Montaufier, Fénélon, Montesquieu and Vauban for the
Museum of ‘les grands hommes’ at the Tuileries and Louvre galleries. Monipot de la Chapotte, Notice historique
Pigal, p. 20.
208
Lapauze, Procès‐ verbaux de la commune des arts, p. 250.
209
Puttfarken, ‘Who’s public?’, p. 397.
34
Some of these art criticisms indicate that the Pantheon commission was a success. Jacques‐Guillaume
Legrand proclaimed that the Pantheon sculpture ‘doit faire époque dans l’histoire de la sculpture en
France, parce qu’elle se modèla sur les grands principes de l’antique.’210 The sculpture stood out
because it was one of the first manifestations of revolutionary allegory, which harked to the
achievements of ancient art, yet embodied contemporary social and political ideas.211Albeit a
contemporary development, certain critics, such as the journalist Guigné, demonstrated an awareness
of allegorical representations and their assigned meanings. He wrote of Moitte’s main pediment that
his depiction of despotism was ‘sous le forme d’un animal chimérique, qui dans le langage de l’allégorie,
est devenu le symbôle de l’erreur (figure 11).’212 The excellence of individual artists was praised, M.
Gateau particularly admiring the figures by Boichot (figure 20).213 In practical terms, the large scale and
short time frame of the project were congratulated.214In one case, the commission’s artistic
achievements superseded its function as the Nation’s temple; the statue of ‘la renommée’ was
considered such a feat in contemporary sculpture that critics argued that it should be erected in bronze,
not lead.215
However, in the words of Richard Wrigley, ‘once the Revolution lost its hold on consensual rhetoric, it
became an arena for censorious denunciation and recrimination.’216 Quatremère’s defensive tone in his
last report reflected this political climate. Beforehand, he had faith in ‘the general will’ of the public as a
force for democratizing the arts, but by the time of his last report in 1793 he was disillusioned with this
ideal. As discussed in the first chapter, he was under house arrest by that time, because his political
beliefs were no longer in favor with those of the ‘Government of Terror.’217 The Jacobin Government,
led by Robespierre, claimed that they acted upon ‘the general will’, but in reality the only ‘will’ that it
210
‘has to feature in the history of the history of sculpture in France, because it models itself on the great
principles of antiquity.’ Jacques‐Guillaume Legrand, Déscription de Paris et de ses edifices (Paris, 1808), p. 111.
211
Luke argues that ‘if since the beginning of the Revolution allegory had become a central method of
communicating ideas in art, no small credit was due to Quatremère. In this field the Pantheon led the way.’ ‘The
politics of participation’, p. 33.
212
‘in the form of a chimerical animal, which in allegorical language, became the symbol of error.’ Guigné, ‘Rapport
sur le Panthéon,’ (1794), in Vauthier, ‘Le Panthéon sous la Révolution’, p. 403.
213
Meyer, Fragments sur Paris, in Ibid, p. 406.
214
Ibid, p. 408.
215
Ibid, p. 408.
216
Wrigley, Origins of French Art Criticism, p. 331.
217
For information on the ‘Government of Terror,’ see Doyle, French Revolution, Very Short Introduction, p. 52.
35
represented was that of the radical left‐wing revolutionaries.218 ‘The general will’ had become an
arbitrary concept; whose judgment Quatremère esteemed, but also feared.219He was cautionary in
leaving the monument to the Government, asking them not to be swayed by vacillations in political or
aesthetic taste to reverse the achievements of the 1791 commission.220
Public criticism of the Pantheon in this context was influenced by a multitude of factors, such as
authorial agendas and external circumstances. The editor of Le Gazette National, Charles Vilette, who
had proposed more conservative plans for the transformation of Sanite‐Geneviève prior to the
commission, claimed that ‘l’homme du goût, l’oeil moins exercé, reconnaitra sans peine quelle
différence il existe entre les travaux anciens, et ceux du moment.’221 Newspapers were not designed for
entertainment, but to inform the public of political, economic and diplomatic issues concerning the
nation.222 Reports on the Pantheon project were often conditioned by these issues and their relative
importance.223 For example, the revolutionary wars (1792‐1797) had a profound influence on the way
journalists interpreted the Pantheon and its sculpture. An article in Le Journal de la Montagne
incorporated the building in a description of a naval battle with England, portraying the Pantheon as a
beacon that could be seen from the English Channel.224 Guigné argued that Boichot’s figure of Hercules
was too old and rigid, and postulated that it would fare better with more rigorous forms and a youthful
nature considering that France was surrounded by foreign enemies and needed to demonstrate her
strength.225
However, these comments, although pertinent at the time, arguably lost resonance when priorities and
circumstances changed. The extent to which they defined perceptions of the Pantheon is difficult to
discern. Published opinion did not necessarily equal public opinion. As mentioned in the Introduction,
literacy was far from universal before and during the Revolution, and although oral readings extended
218
Albert Soboul explained the contradictions in the Sans‐culottes’ political and social agendas in ‘Robespierre and
the Popular Movement of 1793‐94,’ Past and Present, No. 5 (May, 1954), pp. 54‐70.
219
Ibid, preface.
220
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport (1793), pp. 48‐50.
221
‘The man of taste, with a less impressionable eye, will easily recognize the difference that exists between
ancient and contemporary artworks.’ Charles Vilette, Lettres choisies de Charles Vilette sur les princiaux
evenements de la Révolution.
222
Popkin, Revolutionary News, p. 106 and p. 129.
223
Legrand, Déscription de Paris et de ses édifices, p. 115.
224
‘Rapport de Barrère sur le vaisseaule Vengeur,’ Journal de la Montagne (26 Messidor an II), p 647
225
Vauthier, ‘Panthéon sous la Révolution,’ p. 396.
36
the influence of the printed press, it did not ever succeed in becoming a truly mass medium.226 Was the
literate public in fact able to see through the critics’ agenda and formulate their own opinions? Jeremy
Hopkins argues that this was the case.227 Printed criticism of the Pantheon perhaps reveals more about
the printed medium than what the public really thought of its sculpture.
Hans Robert Jauss coined the term ‘horizons of expectations’ in reception studies, which asserted the
importance of understanding how people’s expectations of cultural objects influence their
interpretations.228 In this light, it is worthwhile analyzing the prints and drawings of the monument
produced in the revolutionary period (1791‐1799).229 It cannot be known if, and if so, how many of these
prints were printed and dissimulated amongst the wider public. However, they do reveal certain
people’s expectations for the monument and how it related to its environment. The Pantheon was a
prominent feature in the Parisian landscape, on top of the Sainte‐ Geneviève hill, and its dome could be
seen from miles around (figure 21). Monipot de la Chapotte argued that elevation was crucial if a
monument was to be appreciated by the public.230 It is interesting that the statue of ‘la renommée’
figures in one of these prints, even if it was never erected, which shows an awareness of the statue and
its significance among the public (figure 22). The placement of people in these drawings is also
significant. In architectural drawings, they were the means by which artists and architects could draw
buildings using the correct proportions. In many of the prints, the visitors are depicted interacting with
the building’s sculptural decorations; in one example the mother and father of a family are teaching
their children about republican values (figure 23). The demographic represented in these images ranges
from the urban peasantry to the privileged middle classes, which demonstrates how the Pantheon was
perceived to be a popular national monument.
However, what was the immediate context for viewing the sculpture of the Pantheon and how closely
did it correspond to these public expectations? Firstly, it appears that many people experienced the
sculptures as works in progress. Quatremère wanted the public to benefit from the building as soon as
possible, and even though he had eliminated the building’s scaffolding by August 1793,231 people had
226
Ibid, p.85.
Ibid, p. 90.
228
Hans Robert Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception (Minneapolis, 1989)
229
These prints and drawings can be found in the Musée Carnavelet, Paris, Cabinet des Arts Graphiques, under the
theme ‘le Panthéon.’
230
Monipot de la Chapotte, Monument à éléver dans le capital (Paris, 1790), p. 15.
231
Quatremère de Quicy, Rapport (1793), p. 21.
227
37
been allowed to enter the building prior to this date. Voltaire’s remains were consecrated in the
Pantheon on the 11th July 1791 (figure 24).232 People were thus aware of the significant alterations to
the building’s original design. Even if the public did not enter the building, they would have seen the
exterior sculpture being executed. An architectural drawing from the Archives Nationales gives an idea
of what the main pediment would have looked like with the scaffolding in place (figure 25).
Experiencing the sculpture in this manner perhaps tainted its appreciation by the public. In his
description of the Pantheon, Sébastien Mercier complained about ‘la poussière des plâtres, les
marteaux, les longues scies, et les échafauds mouvants et suspendus à des cordes blanches.’233 Legrand
commented that ‘la prétention de corriger son modèle, loin de perfectionner cette production
d’antique, n’a fait qu’en altérer les hereuses proportions.’234 Vilette argued against leveling the old
works altogether on philosophical grounds and posed the question ‘si l’on trouvait des chefs d’oeuvres
de sculpture sous des ruines, les detuirirait‐on?’235 When Guigné criticized Boichot’s figure of Hercules,
he had done so on the basis of drawings. 236 A talented sculptor was not always talented draughtsman
and Guigné might have interpreted the work more favorably if he had seen it erected in stone.
The Pantheon’s ambiguous function also confused interpretations of its sculpture. Quatremère ordered
the blocking of the lower windows to enhance the grandeur of the monument, which he had done not
only according to his own opinions, but those of the public.237 Meyer concurred that this action had
increased the majesty of the building.238 However, by the time the Jacobin Government assumed power,
contemporaries argued that the Pantheon was too sombre to be a monument celebrating the
immortality of republican values and proposed that the ashes of ‘les grands hommes’ be moved to an
open‐air monument like a ‘champs elysées.’239 Other measures that were designed to enhance the
232
‘ the plaster dust, hammers, the long saws and the moving scaffolding, suspended by white chords.’ Sébastien
Mercier, Paris pendant la Révolution (Paris 1798), p. 129.
234
‘the pretention of correcting his [ Soufflot’s] model, far from perfecting this model of antiquity has only
disrupted its harmonious proportions. ’Legrand, Déscription de Paris et de ses édifices, pp. 115‐116.
235
‘if you were to find the sculptural works of art under ruins, would you destroy them?’ Charles Vilette, Lettres
choisies de Charles Vilette sur les princiaux événements de la Révolution.
236
G. Vauthier, ‘Panthéon sous la révolution’, p. 396.
237
238
Meyer, Fragments sur Paris, p. 165.
239
‘Sur les sepultures des grands hommes et celles des autres citoyens,’ Journal de la Montagne (19 July 1793), p.
277.
233
38
effect of the building, such as the surrounding verdant square, never came to fruition (figure 26).240
These modifications were important because the grandeur of the monument was diminished by the
surrounding rickety picket fences and urban shacks.241
In 1794, it emerged that the columns for the main dome of the Pantheon had been so badly constructed
that the monument risked falling down if suitable supporting measures were not put in place (figure
27).242 This weakness completely thwarted hopes not only to cast ‘la renommée’ in bronze, but to erect
the colossal statue altogether.243 It also provided ammunition for adversaries of the Pantheon project.
Mercier commented that ‘c’est ainsi que le dome du panthéon, écroulé et renversé, sera ici plus
pittoresque que le panthéon tel qu’il est.’244 The weakness of its structure distorted the Pantheon’s
pretentions to immortality and arguably reflected more a ‘chateau de cartes que de grands enfants
contruisent.’245 Crucially, these structural problems prevented the Pantheon from opening to the public
within the lifetime of the Revolution.
However, did these factors reduce the impact of the Pantheon sculpture? The ways that contemporaries
grappled with multiple ideas to understand the monument and its art indicate the uniqueness of the
Pantheon project. The points at which people failed to understand the Pantheon sculpture in the ways
that Quatremère and the Pantheon artists expected should be key to our understanding of its impact.246
Even arguing for the monuments’ irrelevance could be considered a contradiction, because in doing so,
the critic arguably recognized its original importance.
There was a sense among contemporaries that the Pantheon sculpture was ahead of its time. Meyer
wondered if it was possible to know whether the monument, and the grandeur of its patriotic ideas,
could be appreciated by a generation relatively new to republican ideas.247 He also argued that only an
education in such ideas could make the public feel the sculpture’s full impression.248 It was a challenge
for artists to represent evolving contemporary concepts in a classical style, and the disjuncture between
240
Ibid, p. 136.
242
Ibid, p. 151.
243
Lergrand, Déscription de Paris et de ses edifices, p. 118.
244
‘it is thus that the dome of the Pantheon, collapsed and knocked down, would be more picturesque than the
Pantheon in its current state.’ Sébastien Mercier, Paris pendant la Révolution, p. 129.
245
‘ a house of cards that children built,’ Ibid.
246
Clark, Image of the People, p. 12.
247
Meyer, Fragments sur Paris, p. 165.
248
Ibid, p. 166.
241
39
the two was evident. 249 If the monument and its sculpture were to be appreciated, the Pantheon had to
be erected in conjunction with nationwide monumental programmes of a similar nature. Few of these
projects envisaged at the beginning of the Revolution actually materialized.250
It was ‘the public’, as both concept and reality, which revealed the full ambiguities and complexities of
the 1791 Pantheon sculptural commission. The ways in which politicians and artists perceived their own
vocations were strongly related to the role of public opinion in late eighteenth century French society.
But there was also the voice of the ‘real’ public; ranging from distinct Art Criticism to the political press.
Although these published criticisms were important in shaping people’s opinions of the monument, they
were not defining. Looking at alternative sources, such as prints and drawings, allows us to envisage
what people had hoped the monument would represent and the function it would serve. Ultimately, the
immediate circumstances of viewing the Pantheon sculpture did neither the sculptors’ nor the public’s
expectations justice.
However, although these criticisms and circumstances colored people’s interpretations of the art, they
should not be taken at face value. In attempting to understand the Pantheon, critics drew from a wide
pool of cultural, religious and political references, which harked both to contemporary events and art
history. The power of the Pantheon sculpture was that it made people not only reflect on the role of art
in revolutionary society, but their own role vis à vis such art.
.
249
Quatremère reflected on Dejoux’s work that ‘he did his work for posterity without noticing that posterity had
already passed beyond his work.’ Quatremère de Quincy, ‘Notice historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de M.M.
Dejoux et Lecomte’, p. 9.
250
Leith, Space and Revolution, p. 312.
40
Conclusion
In many respects, the division of this dissertation into three chapters was for organizational clarity. The
roles of Quatremère de Quincy, the artists and the public in the 1791 Pantheon sculptural commission
were inextricably linked. They were components of a shared enterprise, the power of each entity
existing in the relationships between them.
Quatremère was not free to do as he pleased with the Pantheon. Undertaking the commission involved
negotiating multiple agendas; ranging from the religious and aesthetic, to the financial and political.
However, for Quatremère, the Pantheon sculptural commission was more than a monument for a time
and place; it was designed to last for eternity. The tensions between representing the principles of the
revolution, yet the awareness of how quickly they could change, caused Quatremère and his
contemporaries to look to sculpture as a means through which the more fundamental qualities of these
principles could be immortalized.
Towards the end of the eighteenth century, the importance of the arts in social reform had elevated the
role of the artist in society. By no means were the artists of the Pantheon project vehicles of political
propaganda. They were members of the same artistic community as Quatremère, who considered them
as his peers. Their active role in the design and working process was facilitated by Quatremère’s
implementation of a new administrative hierarchy, which endowed them with responsibilities and
powers that the previous artists working on the old commission had lacked. The creative process was
powerful in shaping the commission, especially regarding the cultural climate and the fact that
monumental sculpture of this theme and scale was unprecedented in France at the time.
As a monument designed to serve the nation, the role of the public in the Pantheon commission was
crucial. It was to this entity, insofar as it embodied the public’s general will, that Quatremère felt
ultimately accountable. In many senses, the Pantheon monument could not have been better timed,
because the commission coincided with the emergence of an increasingly wide‐ranging public interested
in the arts. But this was not the only public passing judgment on the monument. The diversity in
interpretations of the Pantheon sculpture, from a wide range of people, demonstrated the extent to
which outside elements and viewing contexts influenced other ‘publics.’ Whether positive or negative,
41
these criticisms of the sculpture show how the Pantheon’s uniqueness compelled observers to reflect on
public art.
Fundamentally, the aim of this dissertation is not just to re‐establish the dynamics of power in the
Pantheon sculptural commission, but to reconcile the relationship between Art History and History. The
commission has shown how integrating art into historical research need not center on a praxis of
either/or. Art might only be intelligible within a given historical context, but in turn, it ‘rejuvenates the
great wealth of human experience preserved in past art…making it accessible to the present age.’251 It
was art’s refutation of historical subjectivity that made it pertinent in a time of revolutionary upheaval
and change. Whether the Pantheon sculpture was timeless or not is perhaps irrelevant, but it is
important to acknowledge how people’s belief in the power of art shaped the course of history.
251
Hans Robert Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception, p. 75.
42
Appendix 1
Marie‐ Louise Biver, le Panthéon à l’époque révolutionnaire (Paris, 1982) p. 60‐61.
Pour la statue de la renommée, Quatremère n’a pas voulu stipuler de prix avant d’avoir vu le petit modèle
à la fin de l’année 1792. Il en parle à Moitte, puis il écrit à Dejoux, l’engageant à « recueillir l’avis d’un
artiste éclairé, à son choix». Lui-même s’adresse à « un autre Artiste, pour avoir un avis contradictoire».
Julien, à qui Dejoux a écrit, répond « qu’après les plus strictes evaluations, en son âme et conscience», il
estime à la somme de 55 000 à 60 000 livres le prix que l’Administration devrait accorder à « son cher
confrère»; ceci «pour la main d’oeuvre seulement, tant pour le gand modèle que pour réparer les cires,
surveiller les mouleurs, la fonte et la ciselure».
Moitte, interrogé par Quatremère, donne une evaluation plus faible, mais peut-être, plus justifiée.
«Comme j’ai été à portée de voir beaucoup de ces grands travaux chez Pigalle, mon maître, je crois,
declare-t-il, être en état de vous dire à peu près ce que doit valoir le modèle; quant au reste de l’opération,
il y a tant d’accidens à redouter qu’il est impossible d’asseoir un idée determinative.»
«à l’égard de l’exécution du modèle, je persiste à assurer que cela vaut 54,000 livres (comme je crois vous
l’avoir dit), comprenant le petit modèle en plâtre à la main, de 30 pieds de haut ; fournissant le plâtre pour
ledit ouvrage, le réparage des cires, et surveillant l’exécution, jusqu’à ce que la figure soit en place. Mais
sur cel, je ne saurois comprendre les frais de l’armature en fer, qui doit soutenir l’armature en plâtre, les
préjugeant, pour cet objet seul, à 4 ou 5,000 livres. Alors, l’Artiste seroit lésé…
« MOITTE. »
For the statue of the Renommée, Quatremère did not want to stipulate the price without having seen
the small‐scale model at the end of 1792. He spoke to Moitte about the matter, then wrote to Dejoux,
requiring him to ‘collect the opinion of a well‐informed artist of his choice.’ Dejoux then addressed
‘another artist, to have a second opinion.’
Julien, to whom Quatremère wrote, responded ‘that after the strictest of evaluations, in his soul and
conscience, he estimated that the administration should accord to his ‘dear comrade;’ the sum of
55,000‐60,000 livres, ‘for the workforce, large‐scale model, polish, surveillance of the moulders, the
casting and sculpting.’
Moitte, interrogated by Quatremère, gave a weaker evaluation, which was perhaps justified.
‘As I had the opportunity to see a lot of the large works in Pigalle’s workshop (my master), I believe that
I am able to tell you roughly what the model is worth; as for the rest of the operation, there are many
possible factors that it would be impossible to have a definite idea.’
‘Regarding the execution of the model, I continue to believe that that is worth 54,000 livres (as I believe
that I told you), including the small‐scale plaster model (30 foot high), providing the plaster for the work,
the polish, and the surveillance of its’ execution until the figure is in place. But I would not know the
costs of the iron frame that would have to support the plaster frame; I prejudge about 4,000 to 5,000
livres. Therefore, the artist would be wrong…
‘Moitte.’
In this section, at no point does Biver tell us why Quatremère wanted to see the small scale model for
the statue before naming Dejoux’s payment for the commission. Moreover, why did the commissioner
converse with Moitte before writing to Dejoux? In reproducing Moitte’s letter, Biver assumes that the
43
evidence is self‐supporting and does not need further explanation. Moitte’s significant participation in
the evaluation of costs reveals Quatremere’s high esteem for the sculptor, which Biver fails to address.
44
Appendix 2
Francois Crouzet, la Grande Inflation, la monnaie en France de Louis XVI à Napoléon Paris, 1993), p. 574
TABLE D. Hypothesis on the circulation of hard currency
(in millions of the livre’s current value)
1788
1789 December
1790 August
December
1791 June
December
1792 December
1793 April
December
1794 December
1795 December
Hard
currency
2,000
1,800
1,500
1,300
900
500
100
nil
nil
nil
nil
Cash discount
notes
102
129
345
51
30
30
Assignats
500
980
1,500
2,250
2,900
Millions(Llivre) in public hands (rounded
figures)
1,900
1,850
1,850
1,900
2,000
2,350
2,900
5,000
6,850
23,500
The values given for the diminishing circulation of hard currency are pure estimates. One must also take
into account confidence notes, but their total sum was never considerable.
45
TABLE F. The depreciation of the assignat according to the ‘tables of the Treasury’
For 100 livres in assignats, one obtains the following quantity in livres (gold):
Month
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
Yearly average
1790 1791 1792 1793 1794 1795 1796
96
91
72
51
40
18
0,5
95
91
61
52
41
17
0,4
94
90
59
51
36
14
94
89
68
43
36
11
94
85
58
52
34
7
95
85
57
36
30
4
95
87
61
23
34
3
92
7
61
22
31
3
91
82
72
27
28
2,1
91
84
71
28
28
1,7
90
82
73
33
24
0,8
92
77
72
48
20
0,6
93
85
65
46
38
32
Appendix 3
Quatremère de Quincy, Rapport sur l’édifice dit de Sainte‐Geneviève fait au Directoire du department de
Paris (Paris, 1791), p. 38.
Nous placons au troisième ordre de travaux ceux de la sculpture en figures et qui comprendroit le
développement d’un nouveau motif d’allégorie dans l’intérieur des voûtes, ainsi que dans la décoration
peinte de la coupole. Plus d’un motif nous engage à placer de la forte ce cours de travaux.
1 Parce que dans toute espèce d’hypothèse ces travaux pourroient rendre le prompt employ du monument
et la jouissance du public.
2 Parce que l’édifice terminé et dégagé de son échafaudage, rien n’empêchera que l’on ne puisse faire des
échafauds volans pour l’éxecution de ses parties.
3 Parce qu’aux yeux des gens du gout, l’harmonie de décoration dans les voûtes en question devant
s’opérer plutot par la fuppreffion que par l’addition, l’opinion publique prononcerait bien plus sûrement
par la comparaison des voûtes ornées de figures, avec celles qui n’en auroient point, la mesure et le mode
de décoration convenable.
Thirdly, we shall address the nature of the figurative works in sculpture that will consist of the
development of a new allegorical pattern in the inside of the building, as well as the painted decoration
of the dome. More than one reason compels us to employ this mode of representation in the works.
1 Because hypothetically, these measures will ensure that the monument is quickly put to use and
enjoyed by the public.
2 Because even once the edifice is finished, with the scaffolding removed, nothing will prevent us from
installing suspended scaffolding for the execution of specific parts.
3 Because in the eyes of people of taste, the harmony of the decoration in the interior will be achieved
through leveling rather than addition, and public opinion will judge, by comparing the roofs embellished
with figures with those without them, the most suitable measure and mode of decoration.
Quatremère’s based his argument to use allegorical representation in the Pantheon’s art on the fact that
the public would most enjoy this art form. In his second point, Quatremere implied that the public
would be able to view the finished parts of the sculpture while the rest was still being executed. In his
third point, he argued that public opinion would prefer a simpler design than the present decoration.
47
Appendix 4- List of figures
Figure 1
Front view of the French Pantheon, Centre canadien d’architecture, le
Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions (Paris, 1989), p. 26.
48
Figure 2
M. Antoine Quatremère de Quincy 1755‐1849,
http://images.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://quatremere.org/images/QUATREMERE%25
20DE%2520QUINCY%2520par%2520BONNEVILLE.jpg&imgrefurl=http://quatremere.org/defau
lt.aspx&usg=__o601MmKxQKSy_IRWlC4rcxvy3h4=&h=640&w=509&sz=48&hl=en&start=4&tb
nid=7oC‐b‐
CIu5gK_M:&tbnh=137&tbnw=109&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dquatremere%2Bde%2Bquincy%26g
bv%3D2%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DG
18 April 2009.
49
Figure 3
Francois Boucher (1703‐1770), ‘A Lady Fastening her Garter’ (1742), 52.5 x 66.5cm, Museo
Thyssen‐Bonemisa, Madrid. Ed. Colin B.Barry, The Age of Watteau, Chardin and Fragonard (New
Haven and London, 2003), p.222.
50
Figure 4
Jean‐Honoré Fragonard (1732‐1806), ‘Blindman’s Bluff’ (c.1750‐55), 117 x
91.5cm, Toledo Museum of Art, Ohio, Ibid, p. 274.
51
Figure 5
Apollo Belvedere, Rome, Vatican Museum,
Thomas Crow, Making Artists for
Revolutionary France (New Haven and
London, 1995), p. 173.
52
Figure 6
(From left) Joseph Chinard, ‘Reason Subduing Fanaticism’ (1792), terra cotta, height 51.5 cm; ‘Jupiter Striking
Down the Aristocracy’ (1792), terra cotta, height 51.5 cm, Paris, Musée Carnavelet, Ibid, p. 147.
53
Figure 7
Pasquier, ‘La genie et la philosophie’ (Genius and Philosophy), fragments from the original plaster model, Pantheon
Inventory, S 25, Centre canadien d’architecture, Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions, p. 240.
54
Figure 8
Antoine‐ Denis Chaudet, ‘la dévouement à la patrie’ (Patriotic devotion), A. N F 13 1935.
Jacques‐Pilippe Leseur, ‘l’instruction publique’ (Public Instruction), Ibid.
55
Figure 9
Soufflot, ‘Coupe diagonale sur le transept’ (Diagonal View of the Transept’ (c. 1769), A.N, Paris, Centre canadien
d’architecture, Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions, p. 89.
56
Figure 10
‘Bouchement d’une croisée’ (Blocking of a window), A.N, Cartes et plans, 56 AJ 4
57
Figure 11
Jean‐guillaume Moitte, ‘La liberté courannant la vertu et la patrie’ (Liberty crowning Virtue and the Fatherland),
Paris, Musée Carnavelet.
58
Figure 12
Jean‐Guillaume Moitte, ‘Cassini’ (1787) http://www.wga.hu/frames‐e.html?/html/m/moitte/index.html, 18 April
2009
59
Figure 13
Claude Dejoux, ‘la renommée’ (The Renommée), engraving by A. Tardieu and Normand‐Fils, Paris, Musée
Carnavelet.
60
Figure 14
Antoine Chaudet, ‘la dévouement à la patrie’ (Devotion to the Fatherland), stone relief, at the extreme right of the
peristyle, Centre canadien d’architecture, Panthéon: symbôe des revolutions, p. 239.
61
Figure 15
Charles de Wailly, ‘Projet de transformation du Panthéon’ (Project for the Transformation of the Pantheon),
published in la Décade philosophique (1797), Ibid, p. 150.
62
Figure 16
Antoine Quatremère de Quincy, ‘la patrie,’ Bibliothéque Nationale, Ibid, p.133.
63
Figure 17
Jean‐Guillaume Moitte, ‘dessins pour le Panthéon’ (drawings for the Pantheon), Paris, Musée Carnavelet.
64
Figure 18
Claude Ramey, ‘la musique et l’architecture,’ (Music and Architecture), Paris, Musée Carnavelet.
65
Figure 19
Jean‐Guillaume Moitte, ‘dessins pour le Panthéon,’ Paris, Musée Carnavelet
66
Figure 20
Guillaume Boichot, ‘la déclaration des droits de l’homme’ (Declaration of the Rights of Man), Bibliothèque
Nationale (from left to right: Liberty, Equality, Nature leaning on the tables of the Rights of Man, The Renommée,
‘shocked’ France), Centre canadien d’architecture, Panthéon: symbôle des révolutions.
67
Figure 21
Anonymous, View of the Pantheon Dome, Paris, Musée Carnavelet
Figure 22
68
Anonymous, View of the Pantheon with ‘la renommée,’ Paris, Musée Carnavelet
69
Figure 23
Anonymous, ‘Galerie des célèbres patriots’ (Gallery of the famous patriots), Paris, Musée Carnavelet.
70
Figure 24
Louis Lagenée‐fils, ‘Translation de Voltaire au Panthéon’ (Translation of Voltaire to the Pantheon), (1791), Paris,
Musée Carnavelet
71
Figure 25
‘Échaufaudage au niveau de la frise du fronton’ (Scaffolding at the level of the Pediment frieze), ( 3 October 1791),
A. N. 56 AJ 4
72
Figure 26
Anonymous, ‘Projets d’embelissement des abords du Panthéon’ (Projects for the development of the surrounding
area of the Pantheon), Paris, Musée Carnavelet
73
Figure 27
‘Esquisses de Chalgrin sur les projets de raidissement des points d’appui adjacent aux piliers’ (Chalgrin’s sketches
on the projects to reinforce the adjacent foundations of the pillars), (16 Ventôse an 4) Archives de l’Institut, Centre
canadien d’architecture, Panthéon: symbôle des revolutions, p. 161.
74
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81

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